


Missed Connections

by CocksAndClocks



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Gay Sex, Happy Ending, M/M, Ozpin is an uptight English professor and Qrow is his irresistibly annoying plane neighbor, Qrow is too charming for Ozpin's own good but he's hot so it's okay, and this fic is an excuse to insert poetry I adore, in more than one way to be honest, ironwitch is secondary, more fluff than I am accustomed to writing, poetry reciting, the mile high AU no one asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 04:09:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13115733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CocksAndClocks/pseuds/CocksAndClocks
Summary: "You lethargic, waiting on me, waitingfor the fire and Iattendant upon you, shaken by yourbeautyShaken by your beautyShaken."-William Carlos Williams,Paterson





	1. somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ninja46464 (Tumblr)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Ninja46464+%28Tumblr%29).



> somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond  
>  any experience,your eyes have their silence:  
>  in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,  
>  or which i cannot touch because they are too near
> 
> your slightest look easily will unclose me  
>  though i have closed myself as fingers,  
>  you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens  
>  (touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

Ozpin found flying to be a special sort of pleasure.

The sleek lines of planes taking off, curling wheels beneath them as they rose; the bustle of families traveling, of businessmen’s fingers rapidly trailing over laptop keyboards or mobile phones as they waited; the quiet cleverness of man that went unnoticed every day by those who flew frequently, seen still only in the eyes of children taking their first flight. The airport crowds made most people on edge or weary, but Ozpin found that a corner window seat by his boarding gate to be an excellent place to get a bit of work done, or to relax with a cup of coffee and watch those who walked by. Yes, flying was a special pleasure.

Until today.

Ozpin had settled into his corner, coffee in hand, opening the email app on his phone. Gone less than a week and Glynda had sent him a dozen emails a day, some marked urgent, some implied to be urgent through her usual, unsubtle phrasing (“if you would be _so kind_ as to reply at your _earliest convenience”_ ) as though he had taken a holiday rather than attend a professional convention. 

He had felt her eye roll when he apologized for missing a call (“oh how silly of me to forget you were the _keynote speaker,”_ she had said, all sarcasm), deflecting her annoyances with promises of his flight information, so that she would no longer be plagued to do his job while he was away.

Ozpin shot off a few replies before closing his phone and replacing it into his jacket pocket, lifting his coffee to his lips. He had no chance to taste it, however, before an elbow met his arm, the cup slipping from loosened fingertips.

“Ah -!”

Ozpin stood automatically at the heat that seeped through his dress shirt, running down his skin when the fabric was saturated. His tie – silk brocade, because of course he had opted to wear the good one rather than pack it safely away – was utterly ruined.

“Oh, shit, sorry –“

A stranger’s hand pawed at him, crumpled napkins leaving trails of paper flecks, stained brown, on his dress shirt, his suit jacket - 

“That’s fine,” Ozpin said, catching the man’s hand to save his clothing from further torture. “I can get it myself.”

“Yeah, sure, of course.”

Ozpin glanced up at his attacker, his attempts to clean himself up slowing. The man chewed his bottom lip, bright eyes scanning the damage done to Ozpin’s suit. He was an inch or two shorter than Ozpin, thick silver strands running through dark hair that matched the almost careless stubble on his face. He ran a hand through his hair, the gray catching the fluorescent light.

He was, Ozpin thought before he could stop himself, very attractive.

“Look, I’m really sorry,” the stranger said, his voice low, not _quite_ hoarse, but gravely in a way that resonated even after he stopped speaking. “Let me buy you another coffee.”

“Oh.” Ozpin felt heat climb up his neck, wholly unrelated to the cooling coffee on his shirt, the green now dark and muddled. “That’s…nice of you.”

“Least I can do,” the man said, clapping Ozpin on the back so hard that his glasses slipped down his nose. “Name’s Qrow Branwen.”

He smelled like leather and whiskey. It was a bit early to be drinking hard liquor, but Ozpin knew seasoned fliers often operated on their own schedules, regardless of what social norms dictated.

Besides…the scent was somehow pleasant on him.

“I’m…Ozpin Pine.”

“So, Oz, what are you drinkin’? Latte? One of those pumpkin spice things the kids drink these days?”

“It’s _Ozpin_ ,” the professor corrected, irritation creeping up where his blush formerly had. “And it was drip, black. The single origin Costa Rica varietal from Blue Bottle.”

Qrow blinked, his hand frozen on Ozpin’s shoulder. “Huh. Well, I only understood every other word of that, but sure, I earned the tab. Shoulda known better than to spill your coffee, with the suit and the nice shoes.”

“You really needn’t –“

Ozpin couldn’t finish his sentence, Ozpin stooping to seize his briefcase as Qrow dragged him away from the gate and back toward the coffee shop.

“Blue Bottle,” Qrow mused, releasing Ozpin’s sleeve in line. “One of those hoity-toity places from San Francisco, huh?”

“You don’t have to pay for it,” Ozpin said, smoothing his abused suit sleeve.

“It was my fault. Just accept the apology.”

Ozpin looked at Qrow, sighing. “You’re right. I appreciate the gesture.”

Qrow nodded, eyes scanning the menu above. “Five bucks for a shot of espresso? This stuff must be better than Christ’s piss.”

“Charming.” Ozpin suppressed a sigh, wishing simply to return to his seat by the gate – taken by someone else by now, with the impending boarding time – and cease making small talk with strangers.

“Thanks,” Qrow said, flashing a smile that almost made Ozpin rethink escaping. “You know, we could see if the flight attendants have club soda. Try to rub it out.”

Ozpin blinked, the blush coming before he even processed the remark, shooting Qrow a dark look.

Qrow laughed, clapping Ozpin on the shoulder again. “Took you long enough on that one, Oz. But I’m serious about the soda.”

“I’ve already checked my luggage,” Ozpin said sharply. “And it’s _Ozpin.”_

“Traveling half-naked not your idea of a good time?”

“Mr. Branwen –“

“All right, all right, I’ll stop.”

The smooth, cold feminine voice overhead announced the beginning of boarding.

Ozpin sighed at this new instance of bad luck.

“I hope you can drink fast,” Qrow said. “They won’t let you take it on the plane.”

“No need,” Ozpin said. “I’m boarding first. First class.”

Qrow gave a little shrug. “Guess I’m not surprised. Can I at least give you a couple bucks for dry cleaning?”

“You don’t have –“

“I know I don’t. Just take it, all right?” Qrow interrupted, digging in his back pocket. He opened his wallet, face falling. “Guess I shouldn’t have made that last one a double…”

Ozpin bit back another sigh. “Mr. Branwen, I appreciate the thought. I really do. But perhaps we’ll just call this an unfortunate incident and move on.”

“Sure. I _am_ sorry, Oz.”

“It’s –“ Ozpin broke off the correction at the voice overhead calling for boarding. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Branwen. Enjoy your flight.”

Qrow accepted the handshake, saying nothing, watching Ozpin turn around. The professor let out a long, quiet breath as he approached the flight attendant, handing her his ticket and nodding at her beaming face.

The coffee incident did not inherently unnerve him, nor did the stain on his shirt or the lingering scent of espresso. But the eagerness of his assailant, the edgy manner in which he ran his fingers through his hair, or over the scruff on his face –

_Why, Ozpin, are you THAT attracted to him?_

The professor sighed again as he took his seat in first class. The soft flutter in his gut did not happen often, and when it did, Ozpin was inclined to ignore it. His career was too demanding for relationships, his tastes too particular, his habits too rigid. A sudden, short-lived crush on a man who dropped coffee on him simply did not fit into his lifestyle.

_It’s been such a long time, however…_

That’s enough of that, Ozpin thought firmly, as the rest of the passengers filed on. He took a book from his briefcase and slid the case above him, settling into the seat. His phone shut off, he was now unreachable to anyone save for the polite, smiling flight attendant who took his drink order.

And to the man who flopped unceremoniously into the seat beside him.

“Hey, Oz,” Qrow said, dropping his duffel on the floor.

“You –“ Ozpin broke off the rude assumption that Qrow could not afford first class (his rumpled red shirt, his unshaven face, the cheap knockoff bag all implied as much). “You didn’t mention you were in my section.”

“I wasn’t,” Qrow remarked, standing to shove his bag into the overhead bin. “Overbooked coach, so I volunteered my services up here.”

“Surely there was someone more…”

“Deserving?” Qrow collapsed back into the seat, laughing. He had a nice laugh, open and dark and low. “Yeah, but I said I was with you, so they let me up here.”

He grinned, a smirk that was both self-congratulatory and…almost charming. Ozpin could not help the tiny amount of amusement that blossomed from that smirk.

“Ah, come on, Oz, not even a smile? Lemme buy you a drink instead of the coffee. Whatever fancy-ass wine you want. Well, whatever good shit a plane can carry, I guess.”

“What makes you think I’m a wine drinker?” Ozpin asked, shifting in his seat to face the window.

Qrow raised an eyebrow, amused and smug.

“Like you’re not.”

“Dr. Pine?” The flight attendant paused at their row, bending over. “We have two varietals of sparkling wine today. A Brut from Napa, and a rosé from El Dorado county. Which would you prefer?”

Ozpin felt the blush creep back into his cheeks as he regarded the flight attendant, Qrow’s stare heavy on him, Qrow’s grin impossible not to feel. “The Brut is fine, thank you.”

“All right,” Ozpin said, hearing the huff in his own voice. “So I enjoy wine.”

“So let me buy you a glass. A bottle. Make amends.”

“Why are you so desperate to make amends?” Ozpin asked, exasperated.

“Why are you so against accepting?” Qrow countered, moving about in his seat to find the opposite ends of his seat belt. His hand drifted near Ozpin, the professor suppressing a yelp of surprise when he felt fingers brush his thigh, slipping below to regions entirely inappropriate.

“Sorry,” Qrow said, grinning. “You were sitting on it.”

Ozpin glared, the potency lost with the strength of his blush and Qrow’s attention on his seat belt.

“Never flown first class,” Qrow remarked, wholly unaware of Ozpin’s displeasure. “This is gonna be _fun._ And you’re gonna let me make things up to you, Oz.”

Ozpin let his shoulders slump as he leaned back, sighing internally. 

This was going to be a very long flight.


	2. i have found what you are like

> i have found what you are like  
>  the rain,
> 
> (Who feathers frightened fields  
>  with the superior dust-of-sleep. wields
> 
> easily the pale club of the wind  
>  and swirled justly souls of flower strike
> 
> the air in utterable coolness
> 
> deeds of green thrilling light  
>  with thinned
> 
> newfragile yellows
> 
> lurch and.press
> 
> —in the woods  
>  which  
>  stutter  
>  and
> 
> sing  
>  And the coolness of your smile is  
>  stirringofbirds between my arms;but  
>  i should rather than anything  
>  have(almost when hugeness will shut  
>  quietly)almost,  
>  your kiss 

“You’re such a cliché,” Qrow said, without warning.

Ozpin looked up from his book, blinking at the smirk on his companion’s face. Half an hour into the flight and Qrow had almost entirely behaved. As though picking up Ozpin’s unsubtle exasperation, Qrow had leaned back as the plane taxied.

“I can tell I’m annoying you,” he had said, closing his eyes. “So I’ll leave you alone until your drink needs a refill.”

Ozpin had been skeptical, but he watched Qrow settle into his seat. Despite himself, Ozpin allowed his eyes to wander over Qrow’s relaxed face, his bangs swaying as the plane moved, the slightest hint of gray in his facial hair. His red dress shirt desperately required ironing, but it was well-fitted over broad shoulders that tapered to a trim waist.

Ozpin couldn’t help notice Qrow left several buttons undone, hints of his chest showing as the plane bounced along.

“The take-off is probably a better view,” Qrow said, opening one eye.

Ozpin went scarlet.

He turned in his seat immediately, hot cheeks soothed by the chill of the window. In the glass, he saw Qrow’s smirk as the younger man settled more deeply into his seat; willing to abide, it seemed, to his promise to behave.

Now, as the plane drifted gently in the sky, Qrow’s unexpected remark came as Ozpin was mid-sentence in his novel. He placed the book down, marking his place. He noticed that, as promised, Qrow had waited until Ozpin finished his champagne.

“And how,” Ozpin said, his voice edged, “am I a cliché?”

Qrow flagged down the flight attendant as she passed. “Another round, if you don’t mind, sweetheart.”

He turned back to Ozpin as she left. “Jane Austen,” he said, nodding at the book. “So I’ll bet you’re, what? An English professor?”

Ozpin blinked, glancing down at the novel. “I…yes, I am. You…deduced that from my book?”

“And your fancy clothes, and your attitude, and because the stewardess called you ‘doctor.’”

“Even so…”

“I bet you have that entire book memorized from reading it so many times.”

Another faint blush, for reasons Ozpin couldn’t understand. “And if I have?”

“Just wondering if you’ve found _your_ Mr. Darcy yet.”

The blush became a fire on Ozpin’s cheeks. 

“That statement carries a lot of presumptions, Mr. Branwen,” Ozpin said hotly. 

“So that’s a no. Ah, the wine is here. Thanks, love. Can I get a Jameson? Thanks. Oh, make it a double.”

The smirk returned when he turned to Ozpin, placing both champagne flutes on the professor’s table. “For you, for the coffee. Loosen up a bit, Oz.”

“I am loose enough –“

Ozpin broke off the protest, coloring again when Qrow started laughing. 

“Well, if that’s an invitation, Oz, I’m not gonna turn it down.”

Ozpin said nothing, taking a too-large gulp of champagne and coughing. 

“Why did you bother sitting next to me?” he asked. “For the first-class seat alone? It’s clear we have nothing in common.”

“You’re kidding,” Qrow said, looking surprised. “I thought it was obvious that I’ve got a little crush on you.”

“Oh, will you just _stop_.”

“All right, fine,” Qrow said, leaning back as the stewardess returned with his whiskey. “At first it was to pay you back for the coffee. Well. Half that, half first class. But you’re fun, Oz. I like you.”

Ozpin had no pithy remark to this statement – so brazenly given that the professor was forced to consider that Qrow really _did_ mean it – and so he merely glared. 

“And as I see it,” Qrow continued, “I’ve got at least five more hours to make you like me back.”

“You’re a child,” Ozpin murmured, opening his book again.

“Now if that were true, you’d get put on some special lists with some of the thoughts you’ve had about me.”

Ozpin pulled his book up to cover his burning face, unable to focus on the familiar words before him. 

_Had he been so obvious in his interest?_

It was possible. Ozpin hadn’t had a crush in a very long time, and there was something unnerving about how Qrow could read him so easily. Unnerving and almost - _almost_ \- pleasurable. 

_Just like his face._

Ozpin put down the novel and reached for his champagne. “Fine,” he said. “If you want me to like you, I should get to know you.”

Another smirk, like Qrow expected this.

“What d’you wanna know?”

“What brings you to San Francisco? Unless your stop is merely for a connecting flight.”

“No, no more connections,” Qrow said, stretching long legs as he sipped his whiskey. “In fact, I missed my connection to get on my last flight. Which is funny, you know, because if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have met you. Sometimes bad luck is good luck in disguise.”

“Something like that,” Ozpin said, thinking that if Qrow hadn’t missed his flight, Ozpin’s suit wouldn’t be coffee-colored. “You didn’t answer the question, however.”

“Work. The same as you.”

Ozpin hesitated.

“’Is it that obvious?’” Qrow said, stealing Ozpin’s unspoken words. “In that suit, yeah.”

“Fair enough. But mind-reading is hardly attractive.”

“You don’t mean that,” Qrow said, for once politely pretending not to see Ozpin’s blush. “Let’s see. I’m not married, free as a bird. I’ve got a brother-in-law and two nieces that are the best girls in the world – and I’m not just sayin’ that. I like whiskey more than I should, and my favorite color is red. Although,” he added, eyeing Ozpin’s stained shirt, “green is growing on me.”

“Laying it on rather thick, aren’t you?” Ozpin murmured, forced to look away.

“See, I could make a joke about you using the word ‘lay’ but I’m behaving.”

“I’m sure,” Ozpin said, but even he heard the smile in his voice. 

_”Thick.”_

“Mr. Branwen.”

“All right, I’m done. Can I ask _you_ something?”

“I thought you knew everything about me,” Ozpin teased. 

“See, now that’s confusing,” Qrow said, leaning on the armrest. “That’s almost flirting. Maybe it _is_ flirting for you, given that you’re a little…”

“Reserved?”

“Uptight.”

Ozpin sighed.

“So, look, it’s clear you like me, and I’ve said I like you, so what’s the deal? Why the act of pretending that you don’t find me dashingly charming?” The question was punctuated with a grin just as ridiculous.

Ozpin picked at his sleeve, reaching for the second glass of champagne. Perhaps it was the wine, but the professor didn’t find the question as embarrassing as he should. In fact, he actually wanted to answer it.

“Perhaps because you say things like that,” he said. “Your confidence borders on arrogance.”

“So I’m allowed to be charming but not know it?”

“You’re just not supposed to be proud.”

“What would you have me do then? Wait until your sister’s honor is threatened and use my charm and influence to save the day?”

Ozpin blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

_”Pride and Prejudice,”_ Qrow said, nodding at the book.

“Oh.”

“What’s with that look?” Qrow asked, all feigned offense. “I _read.”_

“Books?" 

“Yeah, _books._ Sometimes even ones without pictures.” Qrow rolled his eyes. “What would impress you? A declaration of my love? Poetry?” 

“You know poetry.” The statement came out of Ozpin’s mouth like a blunt accusation. 

Qrow sat up, clearing his throat, as though he had anticipated Ozpin’s reaction. _“O Distinct Lady of my unkempt adoration, if I have made a fragile certain song under the window of your soul, it is not like any songs –“_

“Are you really reciting me poetry?” Ozpin interjected, too surprised to withhold the question. 

Qrow sighed, leaning back. “Impressed yet?” 

“A little. But that can’t possibly be a common enough poet to impress the average person.” 

“Well, you’re not the average person, are you?” 

Ozpin rolled his eyes and sipped his champagne. He had had enough wine by now to find this all very entertaining – and he had to admit Qrow spending some nights memorizing poetry as a bad pick-up line was unfairly amusing. 

> ”Passing stranger! You do not know how longingly I look upon you,  
> You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me as of a dream,)  
> I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you,  
> All is recall’d as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured,  
> You grew up with me, were a boy with me or a girl with me,  
> I ate with you and slept with you, your body has become not yours only nor left my body mine only,  
> You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass, you take of my beard, breast, hands, in return,  
> I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you when I sit alone or wake at night alone,  
> I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again, I am to see to it that I do not lose you.”

Ozpin froze, his wine at his lips, watching Qrow’s as they so effortlessly recited the lines. The words were familiar but like a song he had heard a long time ago and had forgotten. 

Qrow’s smirk was gradual this time. 

“Better?" 

“It…it was lovely, yes." 

“You should read less Jane Austen and more writing with actual feeling.” 

“Austen has feeling!" 

“All right, I’ll take your word on it,” Qrow said, shrugging. “I’m trying to flirt, not get into an argument.” 

“I’m sorry,” Ozpin said. “I suppose I just…understand her world. And poetry has never been a strength. I prefer…more structure.” 

“Of course you do.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“Nothing. Just seems right." 

Ozpin fell silent, considering this frank statement. 

“Admit it: you’re impressed.” 

“A little,” Ozpin said. _”Very_ little,” he added, watching Qrow’s expression turn smug.

“Then you’ll have to forgive me for not spewing the usual Shakespeare at you,” Qrow said, leaning over the armrest and easing Ozpin’s glass back to the table. “Somehow this felt more like…you.”

“Oh,” Ozpin said, suddenly very aware of the touch of Qrow’s fingers on his wrist. “You seem to know a good deal about my…preferences.”

“Oh, the things I could say about that line,” Qrow said.

Ozpin went pink.

Qrow’s fingers caressed Ozpin’s hand, daring to slip beneath his cuff. _”And your very flesh shall be a great poem…”_

Ozpin shivered at the words, at the innocent touch that felt anything but, his blood too warm.

“You know,” Qrow said, his face so close now, his voice dropping, “just because you read about damsels in Victorian England doesn’t mean you have to be as prim as them.”

Ozpin’s head swam in champagne and the soft words that brushed his face. Everything Qrow whispered now made such _sense_. When was the last time Ozpin had done anything that would shock a woman in the nineteenth century?

“I don’t pretend to be,” Ozpin murmured, feeling the pull of Qrow’s proximity, eyes dropping to his companion’s mouth. 

“You don’t pretend because you _are.”_ Qrow’s breath was warm on Ozpin’s skin.

“Not.”

Qrow’s eyes moved over Ozpin, the stare heavy, like trailing fingertips.

“Prove it,” he whispered.

He did.

Ozpin closed the gap between them immediately, his lips landing firmly against Qrow’s mouth, the act all instinct, the other man’s scruff leaving prickly trails as Ozpin moved against him. The connection was electric, Qrow rigid for only the initial touch before relaxing, meeting Ozpin halfway, the heat in Ozpin’s blood rising, pressing harder until he tasted the sharp sting of whiskey against his tongue. Qrow reached up to pull Ozpin closer, rough hands moving over the professor’s cheek until gripping the back of his neck, each brush of fingertips on skin lingering in hot trails -

Ozpin drew away the moment he needed air, rising and murmuring a pardon as he brushed past Qrow’s legs – this little act of scandal done, Ozpin wanted nothing more than to hide in the bathroom – catching the expression of complete shock on Qrow’s face.

He did not catch his breath until the tiny bathroom door closed behind him, inhaling shakily, his fingers still latched on the lock, too many emotions running through his head – and other parts of him he couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge.

At least, Ozpin mused, both miserable and elated from his boldness, he had the pleasure of doing something Qrow did not see coming.

The pleasure of Qrow’s surprise, the pleasure of his lips – 

_Hardly a maiden now,_ Ozpin thought, uncertain whether he was entirely proud, his thoughts of Qrow a jumble of confusion, of a too-quick attachment, or the way Qrow seemed to know Ozpin so well when Ozpin sought to hide himself, or how Qrow’s scruff felt so divinely masculine against him, or the feel of strong hands pulling him closer –

Ozpin hid in the bathroom for nearly ten minutes, until his reflection no longer boasted pink cheeks. He had to return to his seat eventually, but he took every excuse to procrastinate the act, smoothing his stained tie and shirt, running a hand through disheveled gray hair, polishing his glasses until he had to admit they were quite clean.

He took another deep breath and opened the door.

…where Qrow was waiting for him.


	3. i like my body when it is with your

> i like my body when it is with your  
> body. It is so quite new a thing.  
> Muscles better and nerves more.  
> i like your body. i like what it does,  
> i like its hows. i like to feel the spine  
> of your body and its bones,and the trembling  
> -firm-smooth ness and which i will  
> again and again and again  
> kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,  
> i like, slowly stroking the,shocking fuzz  
> of your electric furr,and what-is-it comes  
> over parting flesh….And eyes big love-crumbs,
> 
> and possibly i like the thrill
> 
> of under me you so quite new

Qrow’s eyes met Ozpin’s immediately.

Ozpin did the only rational thing – he closed the bathroom door again. But Qrow expected it, because his hand held the door ajar, the younger man climbing into the bathroom and dragging Ozpin back in with him.

“Qrow –“

Qrow replied only by seizing Ozpin’s tie and yanking him away from the door, using himself as a barricade. The fabric cut against Ozpin’s throat, strangling the protests that bubbled up at Qrow’s presumption, released only once the door was securely fastened. 

Qrow turned a raised eyebrow at Ozpin.

The professor’s carefully controlled blush returned in an instant.

“I-I can explain,” he stammered.

“Yeah?” Qrow said. The bathroom afforded little space with the two of them, Qrow closing the distance with a single step. “Explain, then. Is it that you found me so hot that you couldn’t resist kissing me?”

“Is this a rhetorical question?” Ozpin asked, his back meeting the wall with half a step backward, glancing down at his feet for an escape route that did not exist.

Qrow laughed, low and dark. “Still playing the smart ass, Professor?” He reached forward, brushing a lock of hair from Ozpin’s forehead, an act both innocent and intimate, those warm fingertips leaving invisible, irreversible marks on Ozpin’s skin.

In the mirror, Ozpin watched himself turn scarlet.

“I – I didn’t mean –“

“You really think you can do something that sexy and expect me to let you escape?”

Qrow’s words were hot on Ozpin’s face now, the last syllable in his ear. 

He shivered against it, feeling a whine in his throat, his body reminding him of how very much he wanted this. 

And yet he could not help but object.

“You can’t be serious,” Ozpin protested. “This isn’t some tawdry story in a magazine. We can’t –“

“So tell me no.”

“What?”

Qrow shrugged. “Tell me no, and I’ll go back to my seat and leave you to your book for the rest of the flight.”

Ozpin hesitated. It was an easy decision, a single word, and yet his thoughts swam against a strange current. “I – ah…”

“Say it,” Qrow said, reaching forward to pull Ozpin’s glasses from his face.

Ozpin drowned in that simple touch. His voice died to a whisper.

“Qrow, I…”

“I don’t hear you,” Qrow whispered playfully, leaning in to brush lips along Ozpin’s ear. The professor closed his eyes, hearing his own breath catch, blood surging.

His next words took all his willpower.

“Qrow, I shouldn’t -”

Another swift tug of Ozpin’s tie and the professor’s voice was choked off, lips meeting lips again. Now all his objections were muffled, swallowed by his companion, Qrow prodding at Ozpin’s lips until they parted for him. Protests died with that kiss, Ozpin letting Qrow push him against the wall, pressing back against Qrow’s mouth, still drowning, pulling all air from Qrow’s lips.

Qrow reached up slowly as his lips worked, running a hand over Ozpin’s chest, tracing the lapel of his coat, fingers crawling over clothed flesh until he had Ozpin’s hand in his, guiding it down, past Qrow’s belt –

Ozpin’s surprised noise was muffled by Qrow’s mouth. Qrow pulled away just far enough so that he could laugh softly, his hips thrusting gently against Ozpin’s hand.

“See what you do to me, Oz?” he whispered, his breath heavy.

Ozpin, his face hot but his body moving on its own accord, drifted fingers along the outline of Qrow’s erection, running a palm down the length.

_He felt so very nice._

Qrow looked surprised for only a moment, his face contorting with a quiet groan, his forehead dropping to Ozpin’s shoulder.

It was possibly the sexiest thing Ozpin had ever seen.

He gripped Qrow through his pants, dragging pressure up and down, feeling Qrow’s hips begin to move with him, Qrow’s fingers tightening on Ozpin’s arms. Another drag along his cock and Qrow pushed himself off Ozpin, breathing hard.

“That – that’s enough,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Easy, old man.”

“Did you call me _old – “_

Ozpin’s tie became a yoke anew, Qrow’s grip even harsher than before, the two men gnashing teeth before Qrow took control, lips moving hungrily over Ozpin’s jaw, his throat, a sharp bite drawing a choked gasp from the professor, Ozpin running hands over Qrow’s shoulders, into his hair, fingers clenching when Qrow’s hands pulled buttons apart and ran calloused digits over bare skin.

Qrow’s lips – and teeth – traveled lower, hands dragging nails across pale flesh, his tongue soothing the red trails. Ozpin arched against him when Qrow’s mouth paused over a nipple, suppressing a moan by biting his lower lip.

“What’s this?” came a quiet whisper, and Ozpin glanced down from heavy eyelids to find Qrow level with his belt, hands still sliding down his chest. “Looks like I’m doing something to you too, Oz.”

Ozpin yelped at the sudden hands that gripped him, clamping a palm over his mouth. 

“Bit sensitive, are you?” Qrow chuckled, pulling at the professor’s belt, the fastenings of his pants. “Been a while?”

“That is none of your - _oh.”_ Ozpin arched and then melted back against the wall, Qrow’s fingers slipping beneath Ozpin’s waistband, freeing his cock from his boxers.

“Figured you for a briefs guy,” Qrow said, contemplating the dark green undergarments as he pushed Ozpin’s pants down to his knees. “But this suits you too.”

“What does that - _ah –“_ The remarks were nothing but teases, Ozpin thought brokenly, as Qrow’s hands continued to explore, giving Ozpin a slow pump before roving further, one hand cupping balls while the other tugged at the professor’s boxers, his palm running along each new inch of exposed skin until he could take a cheek in his hand, fingers digging into the soft flesh. 

Ozpin trembled at the intimate examination, eyes clenched shut to avoid seeing himself in the mirror opposite, hand still cupped firmly over his mouth, not trusting himself to keep from obvious noise in the cramped bathroom. Qrow’s hands withdrew, only for a moment but long enough for Ozpin to hazard a glance downward to where the younger man had opened a small tube of lubricant.

“You – you had that _on you - ?”_

“Always do on business trips,” Qrow said, replacing the bottle in his shirt pocket. “Gets lonely in my hotel room, if you know what I mean. If it makes you feel better, I had to get it out of my carry on. Didn’t think I’d get in your pants this easily.”

Ozpin’s mouth dropped open, all indignance. “You – “ The protest transformed into a strangled moan, Qrow slipping a finger inside of the professor before he could manage a proper response. He felt his entire body flush, eyes scrunching closed again, hands tightening on Qrow’s shoulders. The younger man rose slowly, lifting one of Ozpin’s legs as he worked him open, kicking his pants aside, the professor clutching desperately at him, each breath released as a soft moan, unable to do anything except accept the obscene pleasure that roared over him now.

“Are you wearing sock garters?” Qrow grinned. “You really are an old man.”

Ozpin didn’t even try to object to the assumption, arching a moment later when Qrow inserted another finger, his head dropping against Qrow’s chest, panting and grasping at Qrow’s shirtsleeves. Qrow lifted him by the chin, guiding him back into a kiss, his wrist keeping time with Ozpin’s hips. When Qrow managed a third finger, Ozpin moaned into his mouth, hands clawing helplessly.

“You know,” Qrow whispered, pausing when he dragged another raw sound from Ozpin, “it’s hot watching you fall apart like this.”

Ozpin felt the words burn into his face, burying himself against Qrow’s shoulder again. He wanted to object but all he could think about was how unbelievably arousing Qrow’s teasing whispers were, how each playful remark sent fresh blood to settle below his belt. He wanted - _needed_ \- more.

“Please,” he said, the word a hoarse whisper.

A slow smirk grew across Qrow’s mouth. “Begging? You’re full of surprises, Professor.”

He carefully withdrew his hand, pulling Ozpin against him as he sat on the covered toilet. Ozpin didn’t wait for another word, settling over Qrow, his hands reaching for the buttons of Qrow’s rumpled dress shirt, Ozpin’s movements hot and thoughtless, needing only more of Qrow, more flesh, more touches, more –

He gave Qrow no time to settle before he took a seat on his lap, too eager for Qrow to even fully remove his pants, the younger man guiding himself against Ozpin’s slick entrance.

_”OH – “_

Qrow cupped a hand over Ozpin’s mouth as the professor writhed, Qrow now firmly inside him. Qrow let out a string of whispered curses.

“Fuckin’ _Christ,_ Oz,” he groaned. “The fact that you moan like a whore is hot, but keep it down a bit!”

Ozpin could only quiver against Qrow’s chest, panting against his palm, sparks racing up his spine, down his stomach, settling lower, aching for relief. He gave a slight nod, permission for Qrow to release his mouth.

“I – I’m sorry,” he managed, his voice tremulous. “You’re bigger than I expected.”

“God, you say all the right things,” Qrow whispered, pulling Ozpin closer, nibbling at his ear. “Just…keep it quiet, or the stewardess is going to have your ass next.”

Ozpin nodded again, biting his lip as he lifted himself up Qrow’s length, falling back into his lap with only a heavy exhale. He took his time, the pleasure building as he grew accustomed to Qrow’s size, to the extent his legs had to lift him before Qrow would thrust back into him, electricity in his blood. 

Qrow was panting just as heavily now, his hands trailing over every inch of Ozpin he could reach – running through silver hair, along his throat, tracing the lines of his chest and circling nipples, sliding along thighs, drifting somewhere hotter –

Qrow’s hand clamped over Ozpin’s mouth as the other wrapped around his cock, the professor’s pace faltering as this new pleasure unraveled him.

“Shh,” Qrow said, nudging Ozpin with his hips, his hand beginning to speed up, his thumb brushing the tip of Ozpin’s cock so that the professor had to bite back another desperate moan. Ozpin’s hips moved frantically now, eager for nothing but release, Qrow’s head tipping backward with a silent groan, his hand still working Ozpin’s cock, gripping the base like a vice before sliding upward, an expert’s touch. 

He pumped Ozpin in time with the professor’s pace, offering an unexpectedly violent thrust up as Ozpin landed in his lap, a perfectly timed act that pooled in Ozpin’s groin, the professor coming with a muffled moan against Qrow’s palm, muscles contracting sharply.

“Oh - _Christ, Oz – “_ Qrow bit his lip, fingers digging into the soft flesh of Ozpin’s hips. The professor let out a small yelp at the heat that suddenly filled him, grasping at Qrow’s arms to keep upright. He shifted and canted his hips until Qrow was empty, falling against his chest as the pleasure washed over limp limbs.

For a long moment, they remained in place, their breaths ragged. 

“All right,” Qrow whispered at last. “So maybe you’re not a girl in a Jane Austen book.”

Ozpin chuckled despite himself, lifting himself off of Qrow’s lap slowly, flinching when he pulled free. 

“You’re gonna feel that tomorrow,” Qrow said. “You got a little into it.”

“I don’t mind,” Ozpin said, placing a hand on the wall to steady himself.

Qrow raised eyebrows. 

“You know, considering I thought I knew a lot about you, you sure do surprise me a lot, Ozpin.”

“It’s about time you remembered my proper name,” the professor said, reaching for his discarded pants. “All I had to do was fuck you.”

Now Qrow looked completely shocked, the expression softening to a grin as he began to laugh. He stood, snaking an arm around Ozpin’s waist.

“You’re sexy when you do things you shouldn’t,” he murmured, stealing a kiss.

“Curse?”

“Me.”

Ozpin snorted, pulling away as though offended. “Clean yourself up and get back to our seats before anyone notices us missing.”

Qrow continued to grin as he pulled paper towels from the dispenser, dampening them before cleaning off the evidence splattered on his chest. “Yes, Professor.”

Ozpin rolled his eyes; now that the passion in his blood ebbed, his attitude returned, determined not to give Qrow any more satisfaction that the obvious.

Another series of shuffles and Qrow redressed, returned to a presentable (although still very scruffy) appearance. 

“I’ll distract the stewardess,” he whispered, as Ozpin attempted to restore his former dignity – still impossible, he mused, with the state of his shirt and tie.

“Thank y-“ 

Qrow cut off the gratitude, pulling Ozpin’s waist against him, pressing a long kiss to his lips. Ozpin’s surprised noise muffled, the professor wriggled against the embrace only for a moment, eyes fluttering closed despite his internal debate whether to accept this manner of romantic overture.

But Qrow was good, he thought brokenly, as the younger man’s hands ran down Ozpin’s back, expert lips moving along his own. Qrow’s bravado was not feigned – at least not in matters of the bedroom – but the sheer _affection_ Qrow lavished on Ozpin was alarming.

Even more alarming was how quickly Ozpin wanted more.

Qrow broke away with a wink and Ozpin caught himself on the edge of the sink, too breathless to offer a farewell as Qrow slipped out the door. With some effort, Ozpin roused his saner thoughts and returned to fixing his appearance, doing everything in his power to avoid thinking about every new stain he found on his clothing.

Ozpin avoided any eye contact on the way back to his seat, until he turned to find it occupied.

Qrow, tucked haphazardly under a pale blue blanket, grinned up at him. Without a word, he pushed the armrest up, motioning toward the professor to join him.

_Cuddling._

_In public._

Ozpin bit back a snarky comment, taking the offered seat with a good amount of space between them.

Not that the gesture meant a thing to Qrow, who simply leaned forward and pulled Ozpin against him, throwing the blanket over them both once he had coaxed Ozpin’s head on his chest. Ozpin, feeling the rise and fall of Qrow’s breathing, flushed faintly. This was entirely too familiar, too rushed, too romantic, too personal, too _soon_ -

\- and too comfortable to protest.

Qrow wrapped his arms around Ozpin’s waist and the professor felt sleep creeping over him, release and warmth soothing every formerly tense muscle into relaxation. At his ear, Qrow made a noise akin to a cat purring, or a bird cooing, settling against the back of the seat.

“It’s not an ideal first date,” he murmured, the words distorted with a yawn, “but I think we made the best of it.”

_Date?_ Ozpin’s chuckle was internal.

“I think so,” he whispered.


	4. i carry your heart with me(i carry it in

> i carry your heart with me(i carry it in  
> my heart)i am never without it(anywhere  
> i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done  
> by only me is your doing,my darling)  
>  i fear  
> no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want  
> no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)  
> and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant  
> and whatever a sun will always sing is you
> 
> here is the deepest secret nobody knows  
> (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud  
> and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows  
> higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)  
> and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
> 
> i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

Glynda Goodwitch sat in the loading zone of San Francisco International, long fingers tapping the leather steering wheel as she waited, not hearing the song that trilled through her radio. She sighed when the security guard met her eye and tapped his watch.

“I know, I know,” she said aloud.

The security guard began to move toward her car.

“Oh, for _Christ’s sake –“_ She rolled down the passenger window, the chill flooding in instantly. She plastered a smile on her face. “Hi.”

“Sorry, lady, but you can’t be idle here. Loading and unloading only.”

Glynda dropped the polite act immediately. “Oh, come _on,_ the plane landed thirty minutes ago and I’ve circled the damn airport fifty times –“

“I’m sorry, lady, but those are the rules.”

“Can’t you just – oh! There he is.”

The guard turned, one eyebrow raised as though he thought she would lie to buy time (and of course she would, should matters come to it).

“Which one?” the guard asked skeptically.

“Aren’t you trusting,” Glynda muttered. “The man with silver hair and glasses.”

“Uh huh.”

_”Jesus,_ you’re hard to convince. He’s my boss, and if you make me abandon him, he’ll put me out on the streets. You don’t want that, do you?”

The guard put up his hands in mock surrender as Ozpin spotted her car. God, was the man never a stereotype of rich academia? Tailored suit, black and leather Bric luggage set, those silly tinted glasses that were neither sunglasses nor reading glasses (“They’re custom made,” he explained to her once. Something about eyestrain from spending too long on computers).

She popped the truck and unlocked the doors, turning up the heat against the winter weather. Ozpin climbed into the passenger seat, giving her a brief nod.

“Christ, Ozpin, you look like a disaster.”

He did, too, his usual ruffled hair (“Bed head,” Professor Peach called it, always with a blush and a giggle) was positively askew, his dress shirt rumpled and stained.

“It’s nice to see you again too, Glynda,” he said, his tone amused. 

“Sorry. Yes, lovely evening and all that. Rough flight?”

Ozpin made a sound that was neither a cough nor a clearing of his throat. She glanced at him as she pulled out of the loading zone.

“Something like that,” he said.

Glynda raised her eyebrows. Something had happened; she had worked with Ozpin long enough to understand the depth of that understated remark.

“I spilled coffee before takeoff,” he said, as though reading her mind. “That’s all.”

“You look like the plane hit a hurricane.”

Ozpin reached up to smooth his hair automatically, but his silence indicated his desire not to give more details. Glynda suppressed a sigh. 

Ozpin never gave details.

God, she needed better friends.

The rest of the drive was polite small talk; Ozpin asked for news from the university, Glynda reminded him of the interview for the faculty opening the following afternoon, and nothing of actual meaning was mentioned. 

Precisely how Ozpin preferred it.

It bored Glynda to death.

“That was my turnoff,” Ozpin remarked after a stretch of silence, watching the sign whiz by.

Glynda clicked her tongue. “You already forgot.”

“Forgot what?”

“You said that if I picked you up, you’d help me with grading those essays. So help me, if you default on that agreement, Ozpin –“

“Oh, all right,” came the resigned sigh.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” she said, her voice light. Ironwood called that tone her “flirty voice.”

Ozpin glanced at her, a smile on his lips. “Oh?”

“I picked up sushi from that little hole-in-the-wall place you love – yes, I got you an Alaskan roll, don’t interrupt me – and a bottle of sake to make the grading a little less awful.”

Ozpin nodded gravely at this offer. “Is it at least a daiginjo – “

_”Yes,_ I got the same bottle you brought last time. God, you’re so pretentious.”

But they were both laughing now, Ozpin accustomed to his colleague’s brand of dry humor so that Glynda never truly found herself concerned with what she said to him.

“Thank you, Glynda, I think that would be lovely.”

“You haven’t seen the papers we’re grading yet. You’ll need to be fortified.”

“You’re not selling your case.”

“Ah, but I saved my trump card for last: a bottle of coffee nigori.”

She almost _felt_ his breath catch. 

“I humbly agree to your terms,” he said.

Now when the drive fell into silence, Glynda felt the comfort of an old, established friendship and the easy understandings of one another. She sensed Ozpin begin to relax – something about the flight had made him tense. She was satisfied that she had helped undo that, even as he looked out the window over the dark bay, his thoughts growing further away.

She pulled into her driveway and Ozpin followed her into the house with his luggage as she flicked on the lights.

“May as well put them in the guest room,” she said. “Every good grading session ends up with one of us drunk.”

“You, always,” Ozpin said, amused, nevertheless taking the bags down the hall.

“I teach, therefore I drink,” Glynda called after him, pulling the Styrofoam takeout trays from the fridge. She did the domestic tasks with a light heart, grudgingly acknowledging that she appreciated when Ozpin stayed over. She didn’t have a lot of friends – not that she had ever called Ozpin a friend to his face – and she found his company easy and warm. Half of the department thought they were sleeping together, but the rumor didn’t concern her. Besides, she thought them idiots for not realizing Ozpin was gay.

Not, mind you, that he had ever said anything of the sort to her or anyone else. But she knew him, and that made it obvious.

“So,” Glynda said as Ozpin sat at her kitchen island, taking the offered sake cup. “Are you going to tell me what happened on the plane?”

She wondered if the plane had hit turbulence, or if he had gotten ill, or anything other small crisis. It took a lot to unnerve Ozpin.

She did not expect to see him blush.

He cleared his throat – too intentional – and sipped his drink, reaching for a pair of chopsticks. “Really, Glynda, nothing _happened –“_

“You’re a good liar, Ozpin, but you’re not that good,” she said, snatching the chopsticks out of his reach. “You’re blushing.”

Pink deepened to red.

A slow smile, catlike, spread over Glynda’s lips and she leaned over the counter. “So what’s his name?”

_”His?”_ Ozpin challenged. “Quite the assumption, Glynda.”

“Honey.”

Ozpin made a noise of exasperation, looking away.

“Look, you can correct me if I’m wrong,” she said, putting the Alaskan roll in front of him as an act of forgiveness. “You don’t have to confess to anything if you don’t want to.”

Ozpin glanced up at her, then down at his sushi, taking a bite and chewing while she poured them a second round of sake. She opened her own container and slathered it in wasabi as the silence dragged on.

“His name is Qrow,” Ozpin said quietly.

Glynda looked at him in surprise. The catlike grin grew back slowly.

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” he said, reaching for the fortification of liquor. “Don’t you have girl friends with whom you can talk about boys?”

“God, I wish. I’m settling for you. So tell me about _Qrow.”_

“He…” Ozpin paused. “He’s not…”

“Not what? Tall, dark and handsome?”

“No, he’s…all of those things,” Ozpin said, the pink returning to his cheeks as he speared a roll in aggressive embarrassment. “He’s not…my type.”

“Oh?”

Ozpin’s blush darkened as he fidgeted with his chopsticks. “I like peace and quiet. Refinement. Bookish types.”

“Like you, you mean.”

“I suppose so.”

“Proud, prissy, emotionally constipated –“

“Glynda.”

“All right. So what’s Qrow like? Tall, dark, handsome, but – what? Unrefined? Unkempt? I bet he didn’t even wear polished oxfords on the plane like you. His suit _unbranded._. The scandal.”

“We met because he spilled coffee on me,” Ozpin said drily. “And he…he was so bloody _forward.”_

“Forward how? Because, Ozpin, you’re so opposite of forward you’re practically backward.”

“He…he had one-liners for everything. Crude comments, shameless flirting…” Ozpin’s words trailed and his eyes grew far away.

“And you rejected every single one.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know you. Even if you were interested, you’d push him away. Am I wrong?”

“Not…exactly.”

Glynda grinned, refilling his glass. “Did he kiss you?”

“Glynda.”

She sighed, shoulders slumping. “Right. Because _decorum._ God, Ozpin.”

“I… _I_ kissed _him.”_

Glynda felt her mouth fall open. “You came on to him first?”

Ozpin made a noise of exasperation, cheeks pink. “Why does that surprise everyone so much?”

“So you kissed him. Then what? You make a date?”

“…in a manner of speaking.”

“Come on, Ozpin, you can’t stop giving me the juicy details now. Did you make out like teenagers in first class?”

“No,” Ozpin said hotly.

“Put a blanket over you, let him have a little above the belt action –“

_“Glynda.”_

_”Fine,”_ she said. “I’m only teasing you, by the way. Kiss or not, you’re not the type to join the Mile High Club anyway.” She popped a roll into her mouth, the sharp sting of wasabi washed down by too much sake. Screw the grading; this was _far_ more interesting.

Even more interesting was the vivid shade of red that flushed over Ozpin’s face.

Glynda froze, swallowing the sake too quickly, the alcohol burning her throat. 

“Oh my god,” she said.

“Glynda…”

“Ohhhh my god, Ozpin.”

“Glynda, it’s not – I’m not –“

“You fucked him.”

Ozpin hid his face in one hand.

Glynda cackled.

“No wonder you have sex hair,” she mused. “He put it there.”

Ozpin merely made a sound of suppressed shame.

She popped another roll in her mouth. “Was he good?”

_“GLYNDA.”_

“Fair question. You let me open this line of inquiry.”

Ozpin reluctantly lifted his eyes to hers, looking more miserable than she had ever seen him.

Very, very slowly, he nodded.

“God, I’m jealous,” she said. “How come I don’t meet hot men in first class that sweep me off my feet?”

“I thought you were seeing that professor in kinesiology. Ironwood?”

“Eh,” she said, picking the salmon off her sashimi. “I’m mad at him again. Can’t remember why, but he’s working on making it up to me. Anyway, don’t change the subject. Tall, dark, and sexed-you-up. Are you going to see him again?”

Ozpin’s phone trilled in his pocket and he reached for it absently. “That’s the problem. We…said goodbye, and he seemed quite keen to see me again, but I…neglected to get his number.”

“Christ, Ozpin. That’s the ultimate rookie mistake. Have you tried Googling him?”

“That seems…uncouth,” Ozpin said, making a face. 

“Uncouth was him fucking you in the airplane toilet, Ozpin. At least try to look him up.”

Ozpin didn’t answer, his eyes skimming a message on his phone.

“Earth to Ozpin,” she said, tapping her chopsticks on his sake cup.

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” he said at length, and held out his phone for her to see.

_Hey, sexy. Thought you might be missing me right about now. Did you a favor by slipping my number into your phone when you were asleep._

“Thank god he’s smarter than you,” Glynda said. “Want me to text him back for you?”

“Goodness, no. But…” Ozpin regarded the words on the screen. “What do I say?”

“Well. Do you want to see him again?”

A soft pink crept up Ozpin’s neck. “Yes, I think I do,” he said quietly. “What do I say?”

“Say you want to see him, Sherlock. You’re too old for stupid games.”

Ozpin’s fingers tapped the screen, offering it back to Glynda for approval.

_Did you arrive at your hotel safely?_

“God, don’t be boring,” Glynda said, rolling her eyes. “Ask him if he wants company.”

“Gynda!”

“Like you don’t want to,” she challenged.

Ozpin’s phone trilled again, saving him from a response.

“’Yep. Could use company, though,’” Ozpin read aloud. A full moment passed before he blinked in realization, blushing anew.

“See?” Glynda said. “You gonna do it?”

“Of course not,” Ozpin said hotly. 

“But you want to.”

“That’s beside the poi –“ He clamped his mouth shut, aware too late what he was saying.

Glynda laughed and took the phone from him. “What do you want to do? Ask him to dinner tomorrow?”

“I…do you think he would?”

“Ozpin, this man could not be _more_ clearly interested.”

The professor sighed, finishing his sake. 

Glynda put down the phone. “Been a while since you dated?”

“A while,” Ozpin repeated wryly. “That’s an understatement. Not since…” He paused, eyes narrowing as he thought. “Well. Since college, I suppose.”

_”College._ Jesus, Ozpin, you’re pushing social security benefit age.”

“Don’t be rude.”

“Okay, so you’ve practically never dated. College hardly counts. So take my advice, if you want: ask him out for dinner. It’s just dinner. You like him, don’t you? I mean beyond physically.”

Ozpin avoided her eyes. “I do,” he said.

“And if he likes you beyond the physical, he’ll want to go to dinner. It’s not marriage, Ozpin. It’s one evening.”

Ozpin sighed, pouring himself another drink. “All right. Let me think about how to phrase it – Glynda!”

She was already typing, springing out of his reach when he tried for the device. The _sent_ noise pinged and he looked at her, horrified. 

“What did you send him?”

“I asked if he wanted to get dinner tomorrow.”

Ozpin sat back down, eyebrows knit in worry.

“Faint heart never won fair lady,” Glynda said.

The phone pinged.

“Please read it for me,” he whispered.

“You _really_ like this guy,” she mused, opening the message. “’I’d love to, babe.’ See? It’s that easy.”

She saw the tug of a smile on his lips, the cup rising to conceal it. She snorted; the man’s embarrassment was almost as cute as his obvious pleasure with the date set.

The phone pinged again.

“’Looking forward to it,’” Glynda read. “’Surprised you weren’t a smartass about it, but maybe your ass needs a rest –‘”

“That’s enough!” Ozpin said, springing from his seat to seize the phone back, face aflame. “I – I can handle the details from here.”

“I bet you can.”

_”Glynda.”_

“Just drink until you stop being ashamed of everything.”

“That’s what got me into this mess,” Ozpin muttered, nevertheless picking up his glass. 

“That’s the spirit,” Glynda said, clinking her glass against his. “Cheers to your new boyfriend. I wish you both many happy years so that I have a reason to tease you relentlessly when you assign me the shitty lecture times each term.”

Ozpin poked at his last sushi roll. “May I ask…how you knew I was gay?”

Glynda snorted. “We’ve been colleagues for years, Ozpin, and you never once made a move on me.”

“That’s not –“

Glynda straightened, motioning up and down at her body. “Right?”

Ozpin only sighed.


	5. let’s live suddenly without thinking

> let’s live suddenly without thinking
> 
> under honest trees,  
>  a stream  
>  does.the brain of cleverly-crinkling  
>  -water pursues the angry dream  
>  of the shore. By midnight,  
>  a moon  
>  scratches the skin of the organised hills
> 
> an edged nothing begins to prune
> 
> let’s live like the light that kills  
>  and let’s as silence,  
>  because Whirl’s after all:  
>  (after me)love,and after you.  
>  I occasionally feel vague how  
>  vague idon’t know tenuous Now-  
>  spears and The Then-arrows making do  
>  our mouths something red,something tall

Ozpin found himself immensely busy on his day back to work, catching up on the responsibilities he couldn’t relegate to Glynda in his absence, the unending emails and surprise departmental meetings (or had he simply forgotten them?), the piles of his own grading that he had not quite finished on the flight (as he had been finishing _other_ things ) – 

He sighed into his empty coffee mug.

From across his office, Glynda looked up from her perch on his green velvet sofa, mountains of papers around her, red pen cap between her teeth. She took the cap out of her mouth and raised an eyebrow at him.

“What?”

“You’ve sighed about a thousand times today.”

“Well!” Ozpin said, the word all petulance. “I have a lot on my mind.”

“Mmhmm,” Glynda said, making a note in the margin of her paper. “I bet.”

Ozpin bit his lip to prevent a rude retort.

“As much as I would love to let you off the hook today, it’s not possible. You have that two o’clock and we can’t reschedule the interview because you would prefer to daydream about your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Ozpin muttered, too aware of how the protest made him sound like a sulky teenager. 

“Paramour, then. _Inamorato._ Secret lover –“

“Are you quite done now?” Ozpin interrupted, exasperated.

“I am,” Glynda said, glancing at her wristwatch, swinging her legs over the side of the sofa. “I have a class. I’ll be back after with coffee, if you promise to stop sighing and get some grading done.”

Ozpin repressed another sigh, shoulders slumping.

“That paper can’t be that bad, Professor. Or if it is, just fail them on move on.”

“It’s not that,” Ozpin said, capping his green felt pen. “It’s on _Sense and Sensibility…”_

“Ohhh my god,” Glynda said, zipping boots back over stockings. “Look, your lovesick inexperience is honestly something I savor, but so help me if you don’t get some grading done –“

“I know. No coffee.” Ozpin’s lips twitched. “Message received.”

She shot him one more warning look over her glasses before snatching up her bag and hurrying out.

Ozpin carefully placed the _Sense and Sensibility_ paper aside.

From beside him, his phone remained in the same coldly silent state it had all day.

With another sigh, no longer unlawful with Glynda’s absence, Ozpin picked up another essay and began to read.

He remained diligently at work without daydreams (well, almost without) until Glynda burst back into his office, a coffee carrier in hand.

“Your interviewee is here,” she said, placing a venti cup on his desk. “I put his documents in your top drawer, but you said this one was a shoo-in, so I imagine it’ll be painless.”

“You’re breathless. Is everything all right?”

“Well, you didn’t have to assign my lecture on the opposite side of campus knowing I like wearing heels –“

“Glynda, I told you the registrar assigns the rooms –“

“Anyway, your interviewee is kind of cute and Professor Peach is giving him the same look she gives you –“

“Like I need at least three more layers of clothing,” Ozpin murmured, with a brief shutter.

“She’s determined enough to undress that as well,” Glynda said grimly. “I’m going to go rescue him before Peach can scare him off. Or kidnap him.”

“Wise move,” Ozpin said dryly. “Please do. Bring him up at his earliest convenience.”

She was gone again, her heels tapping down the stairs until they faded. Ozpin glanced about his office – papers strewn across his desk, the sofa, stained coffee mugs scattered in all corners. A small academic disaster, but evidence that the English Department was woefully understaffed. Ozpin stood, stretching stiff shoulders as he cleared term papers from the seat across from his desk, sipping his coffee as he fished out the interviewee’s _curriculum vitae_ to review the qualifying experience that warranted past high praise – all of which Ozpin had forgotten.

It was easily the most qualified application Ozpin had received from the position posting: a decade of teaching at a Midwestern university, an emphasis on American poetry but a willingness to teach freshman comp – which, Ozpin mused, glancing at the papers still ungraded all about him, was nearly worthy of sainthood – several volumes of original poetry and critical analysis papers under his name.

And what _was_ his name again? Ozpin flipped to the front of the CV as Glynda rapped on the door.

“Come in,” Ozpin called, putting the CV down to take one last sip of coffee. He didn’t enjoy giving interviews, even when it seemed obvious the candidate was perfect, but it was a necessary evil. 

Glynda popped in, all forced smiles. 

Ozpin wondered how difficult it had been to call Peach off her prey.

Glynda motioned to a man behind her. “Professor Pine, Dr. Branwen.”

Branwen, that had been the name.

Ozpin stood to offer his hand.

_Branwen._

Ozpin sat back down.

_Name’s Qrow Branwen._

From his office doorway, Qrow stood, hands shoved in his suit pockets, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Hey, Oz,” he said.

Ozpin let out a breath as though he had been punched in the gut.

“Qrow,” he managed, the syllable breathless.

His office had suddenly warmed several degrees; he resisted the temptation to loosen his tie.

Glynda’s sharp stare flickered from her boss to the man beside her.

The realization did not take long.

She opened her mouth and then, with remarkable tact, closed it again, eyes still darting between the men. She coughed – to conceal a laugh, likely – and adjusted her glasses. 

“Well,” she said, her voice high with feigned cheer, “considering how well you two are already acquainted, this should be…well. I’ll just go…take a second lunch. Good luck, Dr. Branwen.”

“Thanks,” Qrow said, his eyes firmly on Ozpin.

Ozpin dropped his eyes when the door clicked shut behind her, his face hot.

All thought left him like birds scattering – the interview questions, the content of Qrow’s CV, even simple greetings.

Qrow didn’t appear to mind – or notice. He took the seat across from Ozpin, placing his worn briefcase next to him, leaning back and placing his hands on his legs.

_“I am not to speak to you—I am to think of you when I sit alone, or wake at night alone, I am to wait—I do not doubt I am to meet you again, I am to see to it that I do not lose you.”_

Ozpin stared at Qrow as he recited this, certain he was imagining this entire moment, the sheer ridiculousness of the irony, of the awful embarrassment he could not press down.

He knew those words, those soft-spoken words of such confidence on the plane, when they hardly knew each other but knew what they wanted of each other, all of each other -

“So,” Qrow said, glancing around the office. “Do I get the job?”

_”Qrow.”_

“Am I in trouble?” he asked, in a tone that said nothing but suggested everything.

Ozpin flushed anew.

“You knew who I was,” Ozpin said, unable to keep the accusation in his throat. “You knew my name and you still – still –“

“Okay, cards on the table,” Qrow said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Yeah, I did. I did my homework and recognized you from your photo on the university website, all right? I went to introduce myself, knocked over your coffee, and decided that maybe that wasn’t the best first impression.”

Ozpin cautiously met Qrow’s eyes. _Plausible enough._

“And the flirting?”

“That was…supposed to be funny.”

_”Qrow.”_

“Look, just let me explain before you use your teacher voice on me.” Qrow sighed, loosening his tie until it’s state offered anything but formality. 

_Qrow with his fingers gripping Ozpin’s stained tie, pulling him down -_

“Yeah, it was a joke – at first! I thought you’d find it funny after I told you who I was, but…at some point it stopped being a joke.”

Ozpin met Qrow’s eyes, looking for a tell.

“I swear,” Qrow pressed. “I didn’t fake my reaction in the bathroom, did I?”

Ozpin went red. 

“I dunno, Oz. There’s something about you, you know? Not sure if I can explain it. Chemistry, I guess. You can’t say you didn’t feel something.”

Ozpin closed his eyes, willing himself to stop blushing. 

“I did,” he admitted. “But I’m not sure I forgive you for deceiving me.”

“Fair enough. But do I get to make it up to you?”

Ozpin pressed his lips together to conceal the smile creeping over them. 

“Excuse you,” he said matter-of-factly, “this is still my interview and my position to fill.”

Qrow opened his mouth, then shut it with a click of teeth.

“Business before pleasure, then,” he said. “Ask me anything.”

“Ah,” Ozpin said, fumbling with the paperwork. “Right. Yes. I have the usual questions, I’m afraid.”

“Come on, Oz,” Qrow said, wandering to the window, eyes scanning the campus below. “Don’t ask the usual stuff. It’s in my CV. It’s in my teaching statement. You know it already. Make it interesting.”

Ozpin paused, putting down the protocol list of interview questions, tapping his fingertips on his cluttered desk. 

“All right,” he said. “Why should I hire you?”

Qrow shrugged, lowering the blinds with a bored shrug. “Not interesting, Oz. Your assistant already told me I practically had the job. I’m qualified.”

Ozpin shook his head, a smile playing on his lips. “No, Dr. Branwen - _why_ should I hire you?”

Qrow glanced at him, pulling at the blinds on the next window like a distracted child. The smirk came back as he faced Ozpin, leaning over the professor’s chair, fingers brushing each arm.

_“Viewed freely, the English language is the accretion and growth of every dialect, race, and range of time, and is both the free and compacted composition of all.”_

Qrow straightened up, smoothing his impossibly wrinkled dress shirt, the smirk growing.

Ozpin heard his swallow.

“Whitman again,” he murmured.

Qrow merely smirked, and moved to the next sunny window pane.

“I…yes, well,” Ozpin said, struggling to conceal how well Qrow flustered him. “I spoke with Dr. Lionheart at your university, and he suggested that while you are an instructor of some merit, you encouraged no small amount of chaos in your classroom. Care to elaborate?”

Qrow shrugged again. “Modern poetry is rebellion, Oz,” he said. “Construction and deconstruction, raw emotions polished into something _real._ Fuck iambic pentameter. ‘He most honors my style who learns under it to destroy the teacher.’”

“Do you ever answer anything in your own words?”

Qrow let the last of the blinds fall noisily, facing Ozpin again, hands returning to his pockets. The office was dim now, sunlight straining through abused window treatments. The atmosphere shifted, a warm isolation that felt very far from the rest of campus.

Ozpin knew exactly what Qrow was doing, such terrible thoughts, and yet he would do nothing to stop him.

 _“I met a stranger on a plane,”_ Qrow recited quietly, _“buttoned suit and buttoned thoughts, taut laces over lips and Oxford heels. I met him and loved him, and loved him as he was, and loved him as he fell apart in my arms – unraveling, unraveling, until he was nothing, and I breathed him in until he soothed and smoothed me, rough edges no longer left to cut.”_

He paused and Ozpin let out a long breath from half-parted lips.

“Oh,” he said.

“Something knocking around in my brain since yesterday,” Qrow said offhandedly. “It needs work, but the soul is there.”

“I…yes, I think it is.”

“So are we done pretending I don’t have the job?”

Ozpin sighed, adjusting his glasses. “Yes, fine, it’s yours if you want it –“

“I do.”

The intensity of Qrow’s eyes offered a multitude of meanings to the words. Ozpin looked away, blushing. 

“About our date.”

Ozpin jerked his head back. “You’re…you’re not canceling, are you?”

Qrow raised an eyebrow. “Do you want me to?”

“That’s…that’s not what I meant.”

“But it looks bad. Us dating when you just hired me.”

“I…”

“Then again,” Qrow said, walking over to the office door, “if we kept it hush-hush while I settled in, it wouldn’t be much of an issue, right?”

“I…I suppose not…”

The locked snapped in place too loudly.

Ozpin blushed before he even knew why.

“Good,” Qrow said. “Then if we’re done getting to know each other, Oz, how about we get to know each other?”

“You can’t be serious.”

“You said that in the plane, and I still got your pants off.”

“Qrow –“

_”You lethargic, waiting upon me –“_

“You can’t just recite poetry at me every time I’m cross with you –“

_” – waiting for the fire and I, attendant on your beauty –“_

Qrow leaned over Ozpin’s chair again and Ozpin found it impossible to keep himself from lifting his face, the magnetism too strong, the words too sweet. Qrow pushed Ozpin’s bangs aside and the professor melted into the touch –

 _” – shaken by your beauty,”_ Qrow murmured, _”Shaken by your beauty –“_

Qrow was kissing him between the words, Ozpin pulling him closer, wanting the poem but also every mote of Qrow’s breath, the kisses growing harder, desperate, until Qrow pulled Ozpin up by his lapels, turning and pressing him against the desk, tugging at his suit jacket and tie, his whispers continuing until Ozpin was certain the word would echo sweetly in his dreams forever.

_”Shaken.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading my (sort of) fluff fic! My Secret Santa prompt for this was "any AU, no angst" and I hope I did it justice. Merry Christmas to Ninja and all of my readers. <3


	6. I met a stranger on a plane –  buttoned suit buttoned thoughts –  taut laces over lips and Oxford heels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back for a sequel, of sorts! This last five chapters will cover all the ideas I had but didn't have time to put in this story the first time around. More fluff, more awkwardness, more smut, more happy endings ~ <3

Qrow landed in San Francisco with a long sigh.

He pulled his phone from his coat pocket as the flight attendant gave tinny instructions from the speakers above. A dozen texts – mostly from Ruby, who couldn’t say anything in a single message, instead excitedly vomiting words over his screen in anticipation of seeing him again; one from Yang, who pretended she didn’t care; and a few from Tai to confirm his flight details.

Not that Qrow had given any to him.

He preferred to take a cab to Oakland; he didn’t need to be stuck in a car listening to whatever lectures Taiyang had for him this time, his criticisms of Qrow’s absence from the girls’ lives. It wasn’t like Qrow didn’t miss them like crazy, but the world wasn’t exactly forgiving of idiots who decided to become poets.

Or English teachers.

Another series of pings and Qrow’s breath caught at the personalized text tone he’d grown so fond of. He fumbled with the phone as bodies shuffled against him, eager to escape the narrow plane. Coach really did fucking suck. He had it better in first class with Oz than he ever thought.

Speaking of Oz –

The texts came all at once now, the timestamps confused.

_I know you probably won’t get this for some time, but I’m looking forward to seeing you again._

Qrow laughed under his breath.

So damn proper, considering the texts they had exchanged last night were more than a little X-rated. At least Qrow’s were. Oz did the best he could, his blush evident just from the words on Qrow’s screen.

God, Qrow wanted to see the real thing so badly.

_I know we didn’t make plans, but I would be honored if you would let me take you to dinner._

Cute. 

Qrow could feel the hesitation in the phrasing, the awkwardness of Ozpin trying to be casual and failing so spectacularly.

_Never mind, I only just remembered you’re visiting your family for dinner. I’m sure you’ll wish to stay with them tonight._

“Oz, you adorable idiot,” Qrow chuckled. The want was so evident that Qrow almost canceled his plans.

Almost.

Ruby would never forgive him.

_I’ll just wish you a good night, then. Please give my regards to your family._

_Unless of course you don’t want to tell them about us. I understand either way._

“Christ,” Qrow said. 

Three weeks since Qrow had left San Francisco – and Ozpin – and every part of him itched to be back. Anyone else who dared send him such pathetically love-struck texts would have been deleted and blocked, but now Qrow read them again and again, cursing incoherently in his head.

_I’ve got it real bad this time,_ he thought.

He hailed a cab and chucked his duffel into the backseat, firing off a text as soon as he gave the address.

_Sounding a little desperate there, Oz._

_You’ve landed, then?_

_Omw to Tai’s. Almost canceled the whole thing._

_Why? Did something happen?_

_Yeah, I got all your texts and now I want YOU for dinner._

Now the texts paused; Qrow grinned in the darkness, imagining the expression on Ozpin’s face – embarrassed but vaguely pleased, pale cheeks sprouting pink. God, you could write poetry about how fucking beautiful that expression was.

Qrow _had_ written poetry about it.

_…I’m flattered, Qrow, but you really should see your family first._

_”First.” That doesn’t mean you want me to stay there._

Another pause, then –

_No, it does not._

Qrow groaned aloud, running a frustrated hand through his hair. What the hell was it about Oz that made him so fucking desperate? They had only known each other for a month – three weeks of that they weren’t even in the same time zone – but god damn it if Qrow didn’t want to drop everything to show up on Ozpin’s doorstep and fuck him into oblivion.

“Something wrong?” the cabbie asked, eyes glinting in the mirror.

“Nah,” Qrow said, slumping back with a sigh. “Just impatient to get back home.”

The cabbie smiled, nodding. “Someone special waiting?”

Qrow sighed again and almost flinched at how much he sounded like an infatuated puppy. “Yeah,” he said. “Really fucking special.”

He unlocked his phone for one last text: _Wait up for me._

Tai would be pissed if Qrow didn’t stay the night. Qrow wasn’t sure he gave a shit.

_Gladly._

Qrow restrained another groan, his groin twitching. Oz was just was desperate as Qrow and the thought was so _hot -_

_Easy, old man,_ he told himself.

Qrow bounced his leg impatiently in the cab. He needed a hell of a cold shower.

Taiyang’s face would have to do the trick.

The cab pulled up to the house just after six o’clock. Qrow swore under his breath; he had meant to text Tai with an arrival time but fuckin’ _A_ was Oz distracting. He paid the cabbie with a nod and stumbled out of the car, running his hand through his hair again.

How long had it been? Two years?

Taiyang was gonna have his balls.

His brother-in-law answered the door when he rang, the duffel at Qrow’s feet. Tai didn’t look much different from years before; he still dressed like a fuckin’ _dad_ and naturally didn’t have a fucking gray hair on his golden head.

His resting bitch face hadn’t improved either.

“Honey, I’m home,” Qrow said.

Tai stared him down for a moment and Qrow tensed for the lecture.

Instead, Tai started laughing.

“Come in, you old bastard,” he said.

“Thank fuck,” Qrow said, dragging his bag behind him. “I thought you were gonna try to kick my ass. ‘Try’ – I don’t think you actually could.”

“I’m showing mercy,” Tai said, grinning. “Look at that gray hair! I wouldn’t hit an old man.”

“Oh, fuck off, I’m five months younger than you.”

“Language,” Tai said, “or else Yang will think I allow it in the house.”

“Yeah? She start swearing now?”

“Start? Geez, Qrow, she’s eighteen. She started swearing at eight thanks to you, I just now got her to stop.”

“You mean stop when you’re home.”

“Good enough,” Tai said, his voice tired. “Come on, the girls want to see you.”

The next half hour was a blur of black and gold hair, of overly tight hugs and high-pitched shrieking, Ruby barreling down the hallway and nearly tackling Qrow from his feet. 

“Sup, Rosebud?” he asked, as she hung from his arms, giggling and crying and screaming all at once.

Kids, man. Two years’ worth of sugar and energy built up in that kid.

Yang remained behind at first, only hugging Qrow when he grabbed her arm and pulled her against him; then her grip around him was harsh, tugging at Qrow’s guilt about how much she must have missed him and how he should have been here for them both.

“All right, girls, let him sit down. Dinner’s nearly done, anyway.” Tai dragged Ruby away, still squealing various forms of _Uncle Qrow!_. Yang pulled away from the hug with her head down and a quick wipe at her eyes.

“You cook?” Qrow asked, pretending not to notice Yang’s tears. “Is there still time to order a pizza?”

“Hey, he’s gotten pretty good at it,” Yang said, grinning. 

“As long as you’ve got Poison Control on speed dial.”

“Oh my god, Uncle Qrow, no one says ‘speed dial’ anymore.”

“Whiskey, Qrow?” 

“Yeah. Thanks, Tai.”

“I’ve probably got a bottle of Old Crow somewhere around here.”

“Fuck you.”

Ruby shrieked again, all laughter. “You gotta pay!” she exclaimed.

“She’s right,” Yang said, before Qrow could ask what she meant. “We have a swear jar now. Dad puts in the most when he’s cooking.”

Ruby sprinted off and came back, jingling dissonantly with the coin jar, shaking it until Qrow dug into his pockets for change.

“Just put a twenty in there,” Tai called from the kitchen. 

“Fuck you – shit. _Fuck.”_

Yang and Ruby were giggling together now as Qrow pulled rumpled bills from his wallet.

“At this rate, Uncle Qrow is gonna pay for our next vacation,” Yang said. 

“Yeah, yeah…” He shoved the bills in the jar and accepted the high ball glass Tai put in his hand.

“Jameson,” he said.

“You remembered.”

“I remember throwing out enough of the bottles, yeah. Still keep it on hand. Just in case.”

_In case you ever came back home._

Qrow cleared his throat and took a swallow. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Ruby seized his arm and dragged him toward the table, Qrow grateful for the distraction. It was easy to ask about the girls, to shift the conversation away from himself and how disappointed he and Tai both were in his sporadic presence in their lives. Ruby spoke in animated tones about high school and her friends, names that Qrow wouldn’t remember past this conversation.

Yang, however, had different tones when speaking about school.

“Ugh, my Lit professor is the _worst,”_ she declared, stabbing at her chicken so violently that the fork shrieked across the plate. “I swear he doesn’t believe in giving A’s. I should have waited until you started teaching there, Uncle Qrow.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you’re not writing A-papers, Firecracker.”

“Bullshit!”

“Language, Yang,” Tai warned.

“I’m writing good essays,” Yang said, pointing her fork threateningly at Qrow. “And my friend Blake is some kind of genius and even _she’s_ not getting more than a B+.” She lowered the utensil, eyebrows knitting. “Maybe he just needs to get laid.”

“Yang!”

“Don’t we all,” Qrow said.

“Qrow!”

“What’s ‘laid’?” Ruby asked.

“Hey, Uncle Qrow, maybe _you_ could –“

“Oh no,” Qrow interrupted, putting his hands up. “Don’t ask me to get involved in someone’s class, Yang. I need tenure before I can pull that shit.”

“Qrow! Language!”

“Calm down, Tai, I put like forty bucks in the jar.”

“You don’t have to get involved with his _class,”_ Yang said, her voice turning smooth. “Just… _involved._ You like guys sometimes, right?”

Qrow started laughing, ignoring the combined cacophony of Ruby’s questions and Tai’s objections.

“You asking me to screw your professor, Yang?”

“Qrow – “

“Look, I’m just saying it might make him a little nicer.”

“No can do, Yellow.”

“You need tenure for that too?” Yang asked sarcastically.

“It wouldn’t hurt. But anyway, I, uh, I’m kinda seein’ someone.”

Tai’s strained protests paused, his face turning to surprise. “You are?”

Even Yang gave him a shit-eating grin. “Damn, Uncle Qrow, you just got off the plane. You work fast.”

Qrow scratched at his chin, shrugging. “Uh, yeah, we sorta met on the plane, actually. A month ago. Before my interview.”

“Is it serious?”

Qrow knew why Tai wanted to know. If Qrow was serious about someone, serious about the new job, he wouldn’t end up running off again any time soon.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think it is. I’m, uh…stayin’ at his place until I find an apartment.”

Yang whistled.

“You’ve got a boyfriend?” Ruby asked, silver eyes wide.

“Uh. Yeah, Rosebud. I guess I do.”

“When can we meet him?!”

“Look, I just bagged the guy. Can you not scare him off this early?”

“You’re staying at his place?” Tai asked. “Does that mean you’re not staying here tonight?”

_Shit._

“Yeah, about that, Tai, you don’t have a guest room, and your shitty pull-out kills my back –“

“You stayed with him last time you were out here.”

It wasn’t a question. 

Qrow shot the girls a nervous glance. “Yeah. Look, I know I said I would visit, but – “

“You don’t have to explain, Qrow.”

That fucking tone. Like Tai was his wife, waiting up for him.

“This one’s…different,” Qrow said, the words tumbling out of him. “I know it’s only been a month and I’m probably fucking crazy for diving in like this, but Tai…” He sighed, leaning back against his chair, jetlag and exhaustion catching up in a hurry. “He’s different.”

Taiyang studied him, gauging his honesty.

“You writing again?” he asked.

Qrow expected the question.

“…yeah.”

Tai chewed his bottom lip, eyes on his plate. After a long moment – Yang and Ruby staring unabashedly – he nodded slowly. 

“All right,” he said. “I believe you. But,” he added, pointing a fork at Qrow exactly as Yang had just done, “no more bailing on us just because you had a date.”

“Deal. I’ll visit so much you’ll get sick of me.”

“Not possible!” Ruby exclaimed, beaming. “Will you come to my school dance? Dad says they need more chaperones.”

“A school dance, huh? Well, I don’t know if I still have my moves, but if I spike the punch I might remember some of ‘em.”

“Qrow, it’s a _high school dance_ \- “

“Ohmygod, Uncle Qrow, don’t threaten to _dance_ – “

Qrow laughed in the resulting chaos that broke out over the dinner table. He couldn’t hear a thing between Tai warning him against alcohol at school functions, Yang lamenting his lack of dancing ability, and Ruby’s excited, nonsensical shrieking.

Yeah, it was pretty nice to be home again.


	7. I met a stranger on a plane –  I smelled like whiskey and cigarette smoke, risk and danger, things that raise eyebrows and pulses.

When the cab finally pulled up to Ozpin’s place, Qrow’s phone read nearly 10:00 PM, and Qrow was a little worse for wear. Sure, seeing the girls was great and even he had to admit he’d missed them. Yeah, maybe even Tai a little bit too. But then they asked about Oz, and Tai poured him another whiskey, and then another, and then Qrow _needed_ another _because_ they’d asked about Oz, and Qrow wasn’t exactly sure how it felt about it all.

Truth be told, Qrow suspected he was already a little head over heels for Oz.

Which was stupid. 

They had only known each other for a month, writing texts to each other at night while apart like some lovesick girl in Oz’s Victorian novels.

_You writing again?_

Poetry. Qrow only wrote poetry when he was emotional. His publisher had been pressing a new collection for a while. And for a while, Qrow’s emotions were too drained to stomach sitting at his laptop to face a white screen, his moleskin notebook tucked in his jacket pocket every day, the last entry the day Raven was denied parole.

Writing again meant he could feel again.

Tai knew what it meant for Qrow to admit it, and Qrow hated telling him. It was too much, too soon, moving across the country and shacking up with someone he barely knew and loving every fucking second of it.

Yeah, he needed that last whiskey.

He paid the cabbie and stumbled onto the sidewalk, hefting his duffel over his shoulder. He regarded the familiar house with competing senses of dread and elation. He ran a tipsy hand through his hair, ruffling it just so, fingers rubbing over the stubble he always swore he’d shave off. 

He couldn’t tell if he looked like a drunk who’d just escaped from a dive bar, but to hell with it. Either Oz would find it charming, or he’d realize he’d made a huge mistake in letting Qrow crash at his place.

No big deal.

“Fuck,” Qrow growled to himself, the word a cloud of mist in the darkness. 

He rapped his knuckles on the door and shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to ignore the voice in his head that reminded him Oz was too good for him. Sure, it was true, but if Oz wanted to live in ignorance, Qrow wasn’t gonna stop him.

Ozpin opened the door, the light from his home spilling out over the doorstep. For a moment they stared at one another; Oz was still dressed, only partially informal with his jacket off and shirtsleeves rolled up – green, as usual – a felt pen in hand. Grading, probably, while he waited for Qrow.

“Hey, Oz.”

And Ozpin blushed.

Just like that, Qrow said two words and the man went pink, eyes dropping to the floor as he stammered a nervous greeting, opening the door more widely to let Qrow in. God, he was cute, the way he grew flustered and struggling to retain that dignity he thought was so damn important. The need to hug him – touch him, in whatever way he could – spiked in Qrow’s blood. 

He shoved his hands deeper in his pockets.

“It’s…it’s good to see you again,” Ozpin said, closing the door, the lock turning with a loud click. “How is your family?”

“Good. Great, actually. They’re curious about you.”

“You…told them about me?”

“Not in so many words,” Qrow said, shrugging and glancing around. They stood in a foyer, a room that opened up to a worn black piano and half a dozen bookshelves, mismatched leather reading chairs strewn about. “Just that I was seein’ someone.”

“Oh.” Another blush, another reason to look away. “Let me show you around.”

“Thanks.”

Qrow didn’t miss the strain in Oz’s voice, but he didn’t know the cause. _Was_ he regretting this already? Or was he just too nervous to fess up to something more?

Qrow’s fingers itched in his pockets; he clenched his hands into fists when his drunken thoughts urged him to reach out and touch Oz’s hair, light and silvery in the chandelier light.

“Did my stuff make it on time?”

“Oh, yes,” Oz said. “I’ve put the boxes in the garage. Although…”

He cleared his throat and Qrow felt his own tighten.

“I…took the liberty,” Oz began, “of putting your books up…” 

He motioned at a bookcase and Qrow noticed the familiarity of the spines. His books on Cummings and Dickinson and Williams and Whitman, the collections that boasted his own name amongst them, the textbooks he used in previous classes.

Qrow’s eyes darted from the books back to Ozpin, who was pointedly avoiding his gaze now, nervous fingers messing with his shirt cuff. 

The silence fell with a distinctly profound weight.

“Oz…” 

For moment he couldn’t speak and he wasn’t sure why; slowly it occurred to him that this was an act of minor permanence. “You know I’ll just have to pack ‘em up again when I find my own place.”

“Yes,” Ozpin said, his hands still pulling at a sleeve. “Of course. I just thought…this would make you feel more at home. And that perhaps – I know this is fast and that I may be overstepping my bounds, but I thought perhaps you would come to like it at my home enough that…that you would forget to look for your own.”

The words tumbled out of him quickly, haltingly, as he summoned the nerve to say them, his eyes darting toward Qrow’s face for only a moment at a time, unable to commit to the eye contact.

Qrow blinked, his tipsy mind catching up with effort.

“You want me to stay? For good?”

“It was merely a thought,” Ozpin said quickly.

“It’s a good thought,” Qrow said.

“Is…is it?” The surprise on his face was too much, too demanding of Qrow’s affection; Qrow absolutely ached to touch him. He stepped toward Ozpin, who quickly retreated, his face flushing again.

“Qrow,” he said, his lecture-tone faltering when he moved backward, stumbling. “Wait. We should talk about this.”

“We already did,” Qrow said, laughing when Ozpin pressed himself against the bookcase. He put a hand on the shelf, cutting off Ozpin’s exit toward the kitchen. He leaned in, lowering his voice. “Why do you think you can do these sexy things and then run away?”

The professor went pink, the heat on his cheeks radiating so strongly that Qrow swore he felt it on his own. His eyes betrayed his thoughts, hazarding nervous glances at Qrow’s lips.

“I – I’m afraid.”

“Of what?”

Ozpin went fucking _scarlet_ now, his formerly smooth tones broken and stammered.

“I’m afraid of how much I want this,” he whispered.

And just like that, all business for the night, all pretended distance, all other motives beyond touching Oz and touching Oz _a lot_ \- none of it mattered. Not if Ozpin still wanted him.

Qrow leaned closer, dropping his voice to a growl.

“It’s like you’re trying to seduce me, Oz.”

A whimper left Ozpin’s lips as though strangled by the accusation.

“I – I didn’t mean for it to be – “

But that was enough talking. Qrow cut him off, pressing hungry lips against his open mouth. Jesus fucking _Christ_ he still tasted as good as Qrow remembered, vaguely sweet like champagne, skin soft and tongue smooth, shy. He ran his hands down Ozpin’s waist and felt the man melt, formerly tense muscles oozing like honey, another quiet whimper when Qrow’s fingers seized his hips.

Qrow deepened the kiss and Oz responded immediately, pushing back like a man desperate for air, his fingers grasping at Qrow’s shirt. All those doubts were gone now – that Qrow would find Oz indifferent, that their chemistry had vanished, that they couldn’t simply pick up where Qrow had left off – no, there was nothing in Ozpin’s actions now that implied anything but _need._

Qrow broke the kiss and his lips migrated to Oz’s throat, the older man tilting his head to allow it, eyelids fluttering at the graze of Qrow’s teeth. He let his hands drift further down, gripping Oz’s ass, remembering with drunken appreciation how well it fit into his palms. Oz obliged by canting his hips toward Qrow, his fingers digging into Qrow’s back.

“You sure you want me to stay? Permanently?”

“What?” Oz asked, his eyes glazed and unfocused. 

_Fuckin’ adorable,_ Qrow thought absently, running a hand up Oz’s spine, feeling it curve to accommodate his touch.

“Oh,” Oz said. “I – I do, yes. If you find the proposal agreeable - _ah!”_

Qrow had bit into Oz’s neck, nibbling at his collarbone as his fingers traveled expertly over dress shirt buttons, skin sweet, soothed with an appreciative sweep of Qrow’s tongue. He wanted to take a bite of every part of Oz – and he intended to tonight.

“I do,” Qrow whispered, accenting the words with a brief puff of air in Ozpin’s ear, just to watch Oz blush and squirm.

“We’ll need to discuss the finances of the situation,” Oz managed, his voice breathless as Qrow crouched, moving lower with each undone button. “I have the – _oh_ paperwork confirming - _ah_ your salary – “

Qrow paused from his position at Oz’s navel, the professor’s shirt hanging open from his shoulders, Qrow’s hands resting on Ozpin’s belt.

“Do we have to discuss that now?” he asked, giving the belt an obvious tug.

 _”God_ no,” Ozpin said, and Qrow wasted no further time, undoing the belt in record time, happy to reduce the rest of Oz’s voice to wordlessness.

***

In the morning, Qrow swaggered out of the bedroom, only marginally sure of where the kitchen was, and the coffee machine within; he ran a hand through sweat-damp hair and smirked to himself. He didn’t remember much of last night’s tour because there hadn’t been one. After the foreplay in the foyer, they had moved their activities into the bedroom, where Qrow got the view from every side of Oz’s bed. _Their_ bed. That was as much of the house as he wanted to see at the time.

It was all he managed to see this morning as well.

Everything had worked out better than expected – better than _imagined._ Not even a day after moving and he lived in a nice house with a hot boyfriend. 

A hot boyfriend that Qrow could probably talk into a quickie at work now and then.

_Nice._

He turned the corner in the kitchen; the room opened up into the living room, a steel gray sofa in the forefront, with a dark wood coffee table and emerald green throw pillows and curtains. _Like something out of a home décor magazine,_ Qrow thought. For a reason he couldn’t figure, the thought made him laugh.

From the corner of his eye, something moved at the sound.

A woman.

For a moment they met eyes – her light green ones narrowing into suspicion instead of alarm, her slender body twisting in the dining chair as she swept blonde curls from her glasses. On the table, her phone glowed softly beside a carrier of Starbucks drinks.

_Oh shit._

Qrow seized a pillow from the sofa to conceal himself, his mind racing to place the familiar face to a name.

_Goodwitch. Oz’s assistant._

What the _fuck_ was she doing here?

“Er – mornin’,” he said instead.

“Good morning,” she replied, her voice clipped but also undeniably amused, “Professor Branwen.”

“Er – yeah. Glynda, was it?”

“Yes. I see you made it through the flight in one piece,” she remarked, insinuating something Qrow couldn’t place before a cup of coffee or shot of whiskey. “It seems Ozpin’s manners didn’t allow him to leave you on the sofa last night.”

Qrow laughed without the situation being funny. 

“Yeah, well, uh. Oz is…Oz is – What are you doing here, anyway?”

“I’m here to help you move,” Glynda said dryly, “or is that what you and Ozpin were doing just now?”

_Okay, it’s a little funny._

Qrow ran his hand through his hair again, reaching for any plausible excuse for him being where he was, naked, his skin still slick with sweat from two bodies.

“Uhhhhh,” he said.

_Fuckin’ smooth, Branwen._

“I didn’t expect Ozpin to be quite so loud,” Glynda mused, as though talking about the weather. “It’s sort of…” She pulled the lid from her coffee and blew over the foam. “It’s sort of cute.”

Qrow grinned. Maybe Goodwitch wasn’t so bad.

“It’s fuckin’ adorable,” he said. “That little whimper he makes. Like a puppy.”

Her lips twitched – so she didn’t totally hate him. Qrow had worked with less before.

“So, what – you’re his hag?”

“Do you want my help or not?” Glynda asked.

“Sweetheart, two men don’t need help moving a few boxes.”

“I meant,” she said, all patience as she returned the lid to her cup, “with Ozpin.”

“What d’you mean? I think I’m doing all right on my own.”

She pushed up her glasses and regarded him carefully. “At home, yes. But at the university, Ozpin wants to keep this quiet, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah, it’ll be on the downlow for a while. Until I settle in and it’s not a big deal anymore.”

“So you need me,” Glynda said, matter-of-factly. “Half the department thinks he’s sleeping with me. Play your cards right, and I can keep that rumor breathing.”

“Why the fuck would I want that?”

“Because the moment you looked at Ozpin in his office, you had the expression of a shark smelling blood. You can be as loud and brash as you want here, Branwen, but you’re not subtle enough to keep it ‘on the downlow’ at work.”

Qrow frowned. Of course Oz was the kind of gay guy with a shrew for a best friend.

But even if Glynda was a shrew, she might be useful.

There were ways to tell.

“He told you I fucked him on the plane?” Qrow asked.

“Yes.”

“How long before he told you?”

“Not even an hour.”

_So maybe she has a point._

“All right,” he said, shrugging. “You got a deal. What’s in it for you?”

“You treat Ozpin right,” she said, “and never call me a hag again.”

“Done.”

“Qrow?”

Oz’s voice carried down the hall, the soft patter of slippered feet moving toward them.

“Who are you talking – oh!”

Ozpin appeared, clad in a heavy green robe that looked almost as old as him, hair askew from their morning exercise. Brown eyes fell on Glynda and almost instantly, his face burned pink.

“Glynda,” he stammered. “You’re…here. Early.”

She merely raised an eyebrow at him, her eyes drifting to Qrow, still naked and clutching the pillow over his delicates.

Ozpin noticed a moment later, pink darkening to red, his words stumbling over themselves.

“Qrow, for goodness’ sake, _put something on!”_

Ozpin grabbed his arm and shoved him back toward the foyer.

“That’s not what you said last night!” Qrow called back as he scurried to the bedroom. A throw pillow whizzed by his head and he laughed.

“I think I like him,” Glynda’s voice carried from the kitchen.

“Please don’t encourage him,” Ozpin replied.

"And he has a nice ass."

"I know," Ozpin said, his voice all resignation. "But please don't let him hear that."

“Too late!” Qrow yelled. From the bedroom, he laughed at the dull _thump_ of another pillow striking the wall.


	8. I met a stranger on a plane –  and we together became a great storm lightning laced breath, the thunder of each touch sobs of rain in our throats

Professor Branwen was established in the English department for a mere two weeks before Glynda Goodwitch grew tired of his face. His office, still a coliseum of boxes, was on the second floor of the department on the eastern side. This meant that in no way should he be constantly found in the department head’s office, two floors up and a long corridor away.

And yet.

Part of it was her fault, of course, taking the stupid bet, charged by her own competitive nature and her suddenly challenged role of Most Important Person in Ozpin’s life. She had only met Branwen a few times and already she felt like he had been around forever, a tornado at ease with the peace and quiet he had so abruptly disrupted.

Not merely Ozpin’s peace, but her own as well.

“It’s great, isn’t it,” Qrow had said, as the two sat in the kitchen nursing beers while Ozpin fussed over the proper organization of his newly shared bedroom closet.

“What is?”

Qrow shrugged, taking a generous gulp of his beer. “All of it. The job, the place, the sexy boyfriend.”

“You think you don’t deserve it?” Glynda had asked.

“I know I don’t,” Qrow said, laughing. “But I’m not gonna argue with fate.”

“Wise man.”

“As close as I ever get.”

Glynda acknowledged this with a nod, titling her bottle back.

“So how long d’you think it’ll take?”

“What?”

“Me, talking Oz into a quickie at work.”

Glynda laughed. “Won’t happen,” she said.

“Aw, come on, Goodwitch. I got him into the plane bathroom.”

“Yes, but this is _work._ He takes it very seriously. Too seriously.”

“Hmm.” Qrow picked at the label on his beer. “So, a week?”

“I’m telling you: it won’t happen.”

Qrow raised bright eyes at her, smirking. “Wanna make it interesting?”

“Name the price.”

“Cool hundred?”

“And the acknowledgement that I know Ozpin better than you.”

“Deal.” Qrow offered his hand and she shook it firmly.

“Deal.”

“He’s a little…repressed, isn’t he?”

“He hasn’t dated much.”

“How long’s it been?”

Glynda shrugged. “Since college, he said.”

Qrow’s expression grew almost dreamy. “That’s…what? Twenty, thirty years of sexual repression? And now he’s getting all that outta his system? I hit the jackpot.”

“Please stop talking about Ozpin like he’s some manner of prey.”

“You just bet on his sex life, sweetheart,” Qrow said. “But I get it. This isn’t…like me, you know. Moving in. Monogamy. But if anyone could make me want to settle down…it’d be Oz.”

Glynda felt her heart soften with that small confession, thinking that perhaps Qrow Branwen wasn’t the worst sort of frat boy lover Ozpin could have chosen.

Now, standing in Ozpin’s office doorway, she took back that kinder judgment. 

Glynda waited, eyebrows knit in irritation as she adjusted his glasses, wondering how long she should remain before giving some indication of her presence. Something subtle, to prevent Ozpin the embarrassment of being caught making out with his boyfriend yet _again._

She gave a loud, fake cough, and slammed the door behind her.

Qrow barely looked up, but Ozpin immediately shoved him off the sofa where he had lay atop the professor, red-faced and disheveled. Qrow gave a squawk of surprise when he hit the floor, Ozpin scrambling to rebutton what Qrow had undone.

 _”Boys,”_ Glynda drawled, as Qrow picked himself up with a groan. “Am I interrupting?”

“No,” Ozpin said, loud enough to muffle the string of muttered curses from his boyfriend. He smoothed wild silver hair, clearing his throat and sitting up. “Can I help you with something?”

“You could _try_ to be the slightest bit discreet,” Glynda said. “I’m losing count of how many times I’ve come in here and found you two sucking face – “

“Understood,” Ozpin interjected, still pink. “You’ve made your point, Glynda.”

“I only came by to give you the meeting schedule for next semester.” 

Ozpin took the paper offered, eyebrows knitting. “You could have emailed this.”

“No,” Glynda said, giving Qrow a pointed look. “I couldn’t.”

Qrow shot the glare back at her.

“I see,” Ozpin said, although his perplexed expression said otherwise. “Well, if that’s all, I suppose it’s time we head home. Qrow?”

“Yeah, all right,” Qrow said, sighing. He shoved his hands in his pockets as Ozpin walked across the office to his desk, opening his briefcase to pack.

“You win this time, Goodwitch,” Qrow muttered. “Fuckin’ cockblock.”

“Maybe lock the door next time?” Glynda returned sweetly. 

“Like you wouldn’t break it down,” Qrow grumbled.

Glynda merely smiled, wishing both men a good night. She closed Ozpin’s office door and watched them walk down the corridor as she locked up. They were hardly discreet at all, if one knew how to look; Ozpin’s hand drifted to touch Qrow’s too often, their shoulders bumping as they walked too closely.

It would have been cute if it wasn’t so indescribably irritating. 

She fished in her purse for her phone.

James answered on the first ring, Glynda’s heels clicking in time with her hurried pace. 

“Dinner tonight,” she said.

“Hello, Glynda,” James said, his tone polite and amused. “Why doesn’t that sound like a question?”

“Because it’s not,” she said. “The Delta Venus bar, in the Sheraton hotel downtown. Eight o’clock.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, with a quiet laugh. “Is this a formal affair?”

“Dress to impress,” Glynda said. “I certainly intend to.”

“You always impress me, Glynda.”

She smiled as she disconnected. She gave James Ironwood a lot of grief but she knew a good man when she saw it. She had rebuffed his invitations to dinner, to dancing, to whatever romantic moonlight nonsense he had planned in the past. Glynda was anything but a romantic, and she neither wanted nor needed a lovesick lover following about, waiting for her approval.

_But now…_

She flicked through radio stations on her way home, annoyed by all of them, before finally shutting it off.

The casual nature of her relationship with James seemed to leave a sour note in her thoughts now; maybe she had finally moved past the idea that wanting someone in her life for good was a weakness. 

“I’m not looking for love,” Glynda had told him after they had been seeing each other for a few months. “I can’t promise it’ll ever happen.”

James had merely kissed her hand – he loved cheesy, romantic drivel like that – and smiled. “I can’t promise that I won’t love you regardless.”

She thought about that statement as she dressed for dinner, fishing her favorite little black dress from the back of her closet, long hidden by the pencil skirts she wore to work. The guilt crept up as she applied make-up, pinning her hair up and letting a single curl brush against her cheek.

James ought to refuse her.

She sighed, adjusting her glasses. 

Of course she was clever and witty and beautiful, but so were other women who would not have led him on in such a manner. She _did_ care for him – that was why she had warned him so long ago – but she could not help as though her change of mind was fair to him.

She waved the thoughts aside, reaching for her lipstick. Whatever happened, she was still pissed off that Ozpin and Qrow’s relationship was rock-solid upon a foundation of meeting and fucking in an airplane.

“So what prompted this sudden invitation?” James asked when he met her in the bar. He kissed her cheek but she pulled his face to hers instead, brushing lips. 

“Oh,” he said. “It’s that kind of date.”

“Ozpin is seeing someone and I’m jealous as hell,” Glynda announced. “I’m taking it out on you.”

“I don’t mind,” he said, motioning at the bartender. “You look gorgeous.”

“Thank you.”

James ordered a whiskey on the rocks and sipped, content with studying her dress. He looked as good as always, silver-tinged hair above his ears, his expression soft, warm. He was, she thought, stirring her martini, exceedingly easy to like. 

As though his mind finally recalled something beyond it, James looked up, brows knit.

“You said Ozpin is seeing someone?”

“Yep,” Glynda said, the note bitter.

“I thought…well, to tell the truth, I always thought he wasn’t the type to date.”

“He isn’t. He’s never been interested. But now he’s been swept off his feet and the two are nauseating. I need something else to think about.”

James opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. “I don’t know how to phrase this politely…”

“Then don’t. Ozpin isn’t here.”

“…what sort of woman – “

“Man.”

James went silent, but his expression cleared. “Oh. That seems…” He cleared his throat. “I had my suspicions.”

“Anyway,” Glynda said, “the two of them can’t keep their hands off each other and it’s made work a nightmare.”

“At work?”

“The boyfriend is the new poetry professor. Qrow Branwen.”

James looked vaguely scandalized.

“I know,” Glynda said. “It’s positively taboo. Suddenly Ozpin’s sex life is more exciting than mine and I can’t stand it. That’s where you come in.”

James turned a light shade of pink and sipped his whiskey. “I see.”

“That’s not all.”

James met her eyes, the look a question.

Glynda took a long breath, decided that wasn’t good enough, and tipped half the contents of her martini down her throat.

“Is it that serious?” James asked.

God, he was always so attentive. She hated how much she loved that.

“We’re official,” she said. “As of tonight.”

“Official?” James repeated, blinking.

“Exclusive. _Going steady._ Whatever you want to call it.”

James fell silent, his eyes on the condensation of his drink. 

Glynda felt her throat tighten. Maybe he really _did_ intend to refuse her.

“That’s strange to hear,” James said quietly. He reached out, placing a hand over hers. “Because I’ve always been yours.”

Glynda’s eyes widened and welled all at once and she turned away, clearing her throat. 

“God, you’re awful,” she said, her voice catching, fingers gripping his tightly. “You’re really stupid.”

“For you, I’m the stupidest man alive.”

She laughed at that, feeling the tension melt. “I thought…well…”

“That I would say no?” James laughed now, the sound deep and comforting. “Glynda, you might be as stupid as I am.”

“Clearly,” Glynda said. “But after all this time…”

“You never lied to me, Glynda. You told me exactly how you felt. I chose to stay.”

“You’re very wise tonight,” she murmured into her drink. 

“You could buy my drink, if you’re looking for a way to make it up to me,” he said.

“Oh, I intend on making it up to you,” Glynda said, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “I’m not wearing anything under this dress.”

James jerked back, eyes wide, the blush coming a moment later as he glanced down at her dress. “I – “

“Room five oh nine,” Glynda whispered, sliding the card on the bar. “Don’t take your time.”

She slipped from the chair and began toward the lobby. She hazarded a glance behind her in time to see James shoot the last of his whiskey and chase after her, catching her as she reached the elevator, the two laughing like children, the giggles rising up in Glynda’s chest like champagne, happy – no, _thrilled_ to feel James’ lips press against hers, hardly caring if she managed to push the right button so long as he never let her go.


	9. I met a stranger on a plane –  he wore a beautiful face beautiful tie, both marred by my nearness.

Qrow gave a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair as he squinted at his reflection. Anxiety crept up like a shadow, his blood running too hot, too fast, his hands itching to move – to fix his hair, his tie, his sleeves, things that were neat before and made worse by his fidgeting. 

They were always like this, the readings. Sure, there was a bit of the nerves on the first day of a new class, or a new campus, or doing any number of recited lines in lecture. But this – these professional, too crowded and too intimate readings, where he had a proper podium and a mic and a silent audience, reading off his own words?

_Fuck this._

It wasn’t unheard of. It was pretty common these days, actually, the shiny new faculty giving a reading of their own work. Not that any of the students would pick up a copy of his books except for one or two of the overzealous grad students, or the freshmen who thought one prose poetry class made them lit critics. 

Not enough to deal with the pressure.

He sighed and forced himself to turn away from the mirror, nearly colliding with the stack of boxes he still hadn’t unpacked.

He’d been busy. Or trying to _get_ busy.

The reading and welcome party had at least given Glynda a break from cockblocking; Qrow had been too preoccupied writing to chase Oz down between meetings and classes.

_Shit, why didn’t I just say I’d read old stuff?_

A quiet rap at the door preceded Ozpin’s entrance, the older man pushing his glasses up as he closed the door behind him, a vision in a crisp black suit and emerald green shirt, tie tied in some fancy-ass knot Qrow didn’t know the name of. Oz’s hair was always a little hopeless, but it was somehow cute and sexy at the same time, like an invitation to mess the rest of him up just as badly.

_This is why you couldn’t read the old stuff._

And yeah, that may be true, undeniable, even, but it didn’t make the pit in Qrow’s stomach any lighter.

“Are you ready?” Ozpin asked, that little smile on his face that he reserved for Qrow.

“Uhh. Yeah, one sec.” Qrow pulled the flask of Jameson from his desk drawer and took a long pull. He swallowed the burn quickly and then followed it with another.

Oz made an almost amused noise. “You’ve done this before,” he said, crossing the office to adjust Qrow’s misshapen tie.

“Yeah, but not like this.”

“Afraid you won’t impress me?” Ozpin teased.

“Yeah.”

The professor looked up from fixing Qrow’s tie. “I assure you, I am and will be impressed.” He gave a small tug of the tie and the act was all memories, Qrow pulling Oz by the tie on the plane. He let Oz guide him this time, the kiss soft.

“You taste like whiskey,” Oz murmured. “Fortunately, they’re serving champagne.”

“Mmm,” Qrow agreed. “You get a little frisky after champagne.”

Oz made an indignant noise and pulled away. “You say the worst things.”

“You love it,” Qrow said, grinning. 

Oz only gave him that look that said he had no real grounds to object despite wanting to. “Come now, before we’re late.”

“That would be an awkward thing to explain,” Qrow said, grabbing his briefcase. “’Sorry I’m late to my own reading, I was fucking my boss.’”

“Will you keep your voice down!” Ozpin hissed, the door open.

Qrow placed a finger over smirking lips.

“Besides,” Ozpin huffed, so insistent to be exasperated, “you know my rules. Not at –“

“’Not at work,’” Qrow finished in unison. “Yeah, I know, Oz. Still, a guy has his kinks, you know?”

Oz rolled his eyes at this familiar conversation, the two putting distance between their bodies as they made their way out of the English building.

Qrow clenched his briefcase as they walked in silence to the Alumni Center. Weak drinks and polite conversation with colleagues before Qrow had to spill his guts at the podium. 

_Super._

He glanced at Oz again, the professor’s cane tapping the concrete with each rolled step, his hair almost white in the fading sunlight. He caught Qrow’s stare and that little smile appeared, so informal as it did when he looked at Qrow.

_Enough whining. He deserves it._

“You seem calmer,” Ozpin remarked. “Is the fresh air helping?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

Another easy little smile. 

“So,” Oz said, his voice light – which meant he was worried as hell. “Is your family going to be here tonight?”

“Yeah, Tai texted me just before you got to my office. They’re already at the party.”

Ozpin hummed. “I see.”

“I haven’t told them anything,” Qrow said. “Only that you’re a guy I met on the plane and it’s serious. No names, job, nothing. I want to make sure you’re cool with all this before any of that.”

“Thank you,” Oz said. “I appreciate it. To be frank, Qrow, I…well, I never once anticipated having in-laws.”

He paused, turning pink. “Not that we’re married. I…you know what I mean. I don’t have any family left.”

“Yeah, I get it. And you’re not wrong. They…they kinda are your in-laws.”

Oz made a point of looking at a tree as though its existence was suddenly interesting, his blush darkening. 

“That sounds very nice,” he said softly.

Qrow groaned.

Ozpin glanced at him, alarmed. “Should it not?”

“It’s not that,” Qrow said. “You’re just so fucking cute I want to – to…”

“All right, yes, I understand,” Oz said, very red now, but his lips twitching as though hiding a smile. “I am all yours – after the reading.”

“Blackmail,” Qrow muttered. “Fine, I’ll pay it.”

Ozpin was definitely smiling now, chewing his bottom lip – his lips were so fucking bitable it wasn’t _fair_ \- and nodded toward the Alumni Center. “Perhaps you can introduce me on a day when you aren’t quite so nervous. I would like to meet them – when you’re comfortable.”

“Thanks, Oz.”

Truth be told, Tai might give Qrow a hell of a lot of shit for screwing his boss. That’s why tonight was important. Not just to prove jackshit to Tai, but to himself.

Qrow never hated poetry more than when he had to write it.

“I’ll let you enjoy your family,” Oz murmured, as his hand touched the building door. “I will keep my distance unless you wish otherwise.”

Qrow nodded, more appreciative than he could say.

The moment they entered the building – polite conversation like a vibrating carpet around them – Ozpin separated, seeing Glynda and some tall, pretentious-looking dude who looked like someone had shoved a stick up his ass.

Qrow scanned the dim room, looking for some sign of his family –

“Uncle _Qroooooooooooow!”_

The tackle came from nowhere, Ruby’s tiny body somehow colliding with the weight of a bodybuilder.

“Oof – damn, Rosebud, you’re gonna break my arm!”

“Language,” Taiyang warned, following his hyper daughter, Yang in tow, looking bored already, one thumb tapping at her phone.

“Come on, Firecracker, it’s not _that_ bad,” Qrow said.

“It’s lame and you know it,” Yang retorted. “Blake couldn’t make it…”

“Your girlfriend?”

“A friend who is a _girl!”_ Yang said, flushing. “I’m getting a drink.”

“It had better be punch!” Tai called after her. She ignored him and he sighed. 

“Teenagers,” Qrow said.

“Something like that,” Taiyang said. “So, new stuff tonight?”

The knot in Qrow’s gut returned. 

“Yeah,” he said. “New stuff.”

“So when can I meet the guy?”

Qrow’s eyes shot across the room to where Oz was chatting with Glynda.

“Uh. Soon. You know what? I could use a drink too.”

Qrow slipped from Ruby’s grasp and Taiyang’s glare and made his way to the refreshment table where Yang seemed to be arguing with the attendant.

“Hey,” Qrow nodded at the bartender. “Champagne or whatever you have. One for my niece too.”

The bartender shot Yang a look; Yang returned a smug _I told you so_ expression. Kid was learning well.

“She’s twenty-two,” Qrow said, the lie coming easily.

“Of course, Professor Branwen.”

Yang followed Qrow, wine in hand.

“Holy shit, Uncle Qrow, that was awesome.”

“Yeah, well, drink it before your dad sees,” Qrow said, restraining the urge to look for Oz again.

“No problem,” Yang said, her smile finally genuine. “Hey, Uncle Qrow, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” Anything to get his mind off of Oz – for now.

“You – you’re pretty comfortable being bi, right?”

“What?” Qrow looked down, surprised. “Uh, yeah, it’s not like it’s a secret.”

“I know.”

“Equal opportunity,” Qrow said. “Feminism and all that. Can’t keep this body to just one gender.”

“Ew, gross, stop. I just wanted to know…” Yang took a deep breath. “…how did you _know?_ I mean…how did you know what you felt for someone was a crush and not just…” Yang sighed, taking a too-large gulp of champagne. “I don’t know.”

“This about your friend Blake? The genius?”

Yang’s shoulders fell. “…yeah.”

“Well, d’you think about kissing her?”

Yang’s eyes shot up, cheeks pink. 

“It’s a fair question, kid. And I can’t say for you. I guess I always knew. But _you_ know if there’s ever anything you need to tell your dad, he’s cool. He loves you girls more than life. He just wants you both happy.”

Yang stared into her glass. “Yeah. Thanks, Uncle Qrow.”

“Your friend feel the same way?”

Yang didn’t say a word, but she smiled, still looking down.

“Atta girl,” Qrow said quietly.

Yang finally looked up, eyes drifting over the room.

“Fuck,” she said.

“Language.” The warning came naturally, without caring. 

“Remember that hardass professor I told you about?” 

“The one you wanted me to fuck?”

“Yeah.” Yang motioned with her glass. “That’s the guy.”

She pointed toward the group of faculty across the hall, where Glynda and Oz that the tall dude stood.

“Which guy? The tall quarterback one?”

“No, the one with gray hair and glasses.”

Qrow froze with his glass at his lips. 

“Huh,” he said. And chugged the rest of his champagne.

“Professor Pine had the best reviews on Rate My Professor,” Yang said, all bitterness. “I passed with a B, but he was so fucking hard.”

_Don’t make a joke, don’t make a joke, don’t make -_

Yang shrugged, not noticing Qrow’s reaction. “At least he seemed to get a little easier lately.”

_Jesus fucking Christ -_

“Aw, kid, what are you doing to me,” Qrow groaned. 

“What are you talking about?”

“Look, there’re the intros. I gotta go.” He handed off his empty glass and hurried to the podium, desperate to get away from Yang’s inadvertent innuendos.

He barely heard the opening statements, the speaker giving way to Ozpin, who gave that easy smile of someone accustomed to addressing crowds and lecture halls.

“I had the distinct pleasure,” he said into the microphone, his mellow voice amplified _so_ nicely, “of meeting Professor Branwen informally before our interview.”

_Informally._

Christ, Oz, that was one way to phrase it.

“He impressed upon me a strong indication of his devotion to the use, manipulation, and celebration of the English language in verse. While the first two may be learned, it is the last that must be innate, for there is simply no manner in which poetry can be taught if one is without passion. Let us extend a very warm welcome to our newest faculty member, Dr. Qrow Branwen.”

Qrow took a long breath amidst the soft applause, taking his briefcase up to the podium. He shook Oz’s hand as though he hadn’t done so much more to him, giving his lover a silent nod. He opened the case and removed his moleskin notebook – this work was still so raw that he hadn’t made it digital – and began reading without prelude.

>   
>  I. I met a stranger on a plane –  
>  buttoned  
>  suit  
>  buttoned  
>  thoughts –  
>  taut laces over lips  
>  and Oxford heels.  
>  I met him and loved him  
>  and loved him as he was  
>  and loved him as he fell apart in my arms –  
>  unraveling,  
>  unraveling,  
>  until he was nothing  
>  and I breathed him in until he soothed and smoothed me,  
>  rough edges no longer left to cut.
> 
> II. I met a stranger on a plane –  
>  I smelled like whiskey  
>  and cigarette smoke,  
>  risk  
>  and danger,  
>  things that raise  
>  eyebrows  
>  and pulses.  
>  I met him and he wore pink  
>  on pale cheeks  
>  like blood  
>  resurrected  
>  and I lived for him to live  
>  if only  
>  for this moment  
>  and we lived together in this moment and I  
>  too  
>  realized I had been dead.
> 
> III. I met a stranger on a plane –  
>  and we together  
>  became  
>  a great storm  
>  lightning laced breath,  
>  the thunder of each touch  
>  sobs of rain in our throats  
>  eruptions  
>  earthquakes  
>  gods of our own creation,  
>  drowning and drowning,  
>  reapers of our own deaths,  
>  and together we swallow ourselves  
>  we kill  
>  we die  
>  we are reborn  
>  we build  
>  and through bloodstained lips we pray to each other,  
>  a purgatory of divine  
>  hellish  
>  bliss.
> 
> IV. I met a stranger on a plane –  
>  he wore a beautiful  
>  face  
>  beautiful tie,  
>  both marred by my nearness.  
>  I met him and he loved me  
>  cut by my roughness  
>  sandpaper words  
>  until I could feel myself return  
>  in the quiet calm of smoothed hands,  
>  and every night  
>  he runs those hands over my cracks  
>  softly  
>  softly  
>  until I do not fear them.
> 
> V. I met a stranger on a plane –  
>  I did not know that I already  
>  knew him,  
>  knew his heart was my heart,  
>  knew his body was my body,  
>  knew his soul had already  
>  stolen mine away.  
>  I met this stranger and on those stained clothes  
>  I left him  
>  every part of myself,  
>  and in that absence  
>  I begin to fill.  
>  I met a stranger on a plane and he  
>  became  
>  the second coming of myself.  
> 

The last word quivered enough to make Qrow cringe, and he pulled the flask from his jacket pocket. It was done now, and he didn’t give a shit if he got a lecture about his drinking later.

The applause came, tentative and then growing, until Qrow nodded and gathered his things and left the podium, wanting more whiskey or champagne but mostly just to be gone from the room.

Oz was supposed to introduce the other readers for the night but the announcement didn’t come; Qrow hazarded a glance in his direction to see Glynda making her way hastily to the abandoned microphone. The announcement came then; Qrow was already at the bar, tipping wine down his throat. 

“Damn, Uncle Qrow,” Yang’s voice said from beside him. “Not bad.”

“Thanks, kid.”

Taiyang cleared his throat then and the nightmare was complete.

“So,” he said. “When are we going to meet this guy?”

“Eventually,” Qrow said.

“Was that poem about your boyfriend?” Ruby asked, eyes darting to both men.

“That was Uncle Qrow admitting he _loves_ him,” Yang said.

“Don’t make this maudlin,” Qrow snapped.

“Come on, Qrow, that was…a hell of a confession.”

“Tell me about it,” Qrow said, and traded his empty glass for an immediate refill. 

“Easy, buddy,” Tai said.

“Hey, Tai, shut the fu –“

“Here comes your boss,” Yang interrupted.

“Shit.” Qrow managed another gulp of champagne – the fucking bubbles made it hard to drink quickly – and brushed past Tai.

“You’re not going to introduce us?” Taiyang called after him.

“Not a chance in hell,” Qrow muttered under his breath, hurrying to cut off his boss’ path. “Hey, Oz.” He forced the casualness, grateful for the distance between his lover and his family but wanting more.

“Can we get some air?” Oz asked.

“Christ. Yeah, come on.” 

Ozpin followed him silently, the two leaving the building for the chill evening air. Qrow gulped it down as though dying, his feet already moving back toward the English building.

Again Ozpin followed him, silent save for the click of his cane, his eyes heavy on Qrow’s back.

After all, what do you say after hearing something like that?

Maybe Qrow should have given him the poem privately. Not that anyone knew it was about him, but still –

“Will you please say something?” Qrow blurted, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk.

Ozpin’s expression changed, too slight to read in the dark. “Did you mean it? Everything you said in that poem?”

“It’s poetry, Oz. It’s the only time I’m ever honest.”

Ozpin nodded. “I see,” he said. Without warning, his lips were against Qrow’s the rest of his body following suit, until they were pressed against one another without a breath between them. Just as abruptly, Oz pulled away, his eyes smiling. 

“In that case, I love you too,” he said.

“Jesus, Oz,” Qrow breathed. He glanced around wildly at the empty campus. “What if someone saw that?”

“It’s dark,” Ozpin said, and began walking back to the English building.

Qrow ran through a thousand curses in his head, his hand in his hair, trying to figure out where this new, bold version of Oz had come from and could he please _stay -_

“You’re not gonna make me stay in there and socialize?” he asked, jogging to catch up. 

“No,” Oz said evenly. “You have other plans.”

“Heh. I do? So, what, my romantic overtures made you want to head home right away?”

Ozpin gave a little shake of his head. “No,” he said. “There isn’t time for that.”

“Time? For wha – oh. _Oh.”_

Ozpin’s smile was like a secret now. “I think,” he said lowly, “that Glynda will owe you some money.”

“Wait, she _told_ you – “

“Qrow. Not the point right now.”

“Right.” Holy shit, he was right. There wasn’t time. Qrow stepped forward and seized Oz’s hand, dragging the older man with him, hurrying back to the office. Oz laughed but obliged, the two running like kids in trouble. They didn’t stop until they reached the top of the stairs, breathless, pausing while Oz unlocked his office door.

Qrow was on him instantly, shutting the door behind him and groping for the lock, pushing Oz away from the light switch and pulling him closer to his body, mouth pressed, all hunger, against the professor’s lips.

Oz didn’t melt this time; he pushed back, almost aggressive, his cane striking the floor as he wrapped arms over Qrow’s shoulders, the younger man letting out a surprised breath when Oz ground his hips against him. A full groan followed when Oz’s hand gripped him over his pants.

“Where do you want me?” he whispered.

_Fuckin’ fuck -_

“Desk,” Qrow panted. “Now.”

The order wasn’t necessary, Oz receptive to Qrow’s guidance, moving backward until he was pressed against the desk, Qrow stripping his jacket off his shoulders, Oz’s limbs slipping from each garment as Qrow worked, the professor’s hands drifting to do the same to Qrow, more than once brushing along Qrow’s erection, as though finding pleasure in hearing Qrow’s breath hitch.

“Fuckin’ tease,” Qrow growled.

“I’m not preventing you from retaliating,” Ozpin whispered breathlessly.

“True,” Qrow said, and shoved his hand down Oz’s boxers, grasping his cock – already hard, already hot – and watching the professor’s eyes clench closed, his gasp quiet but strong enough for Qrow to feel the shudder. He ran his thumb over the tip and Oz’s back arched, his moan a strained, whispered whine, his fingers gripping Qrow’s arms with white knuckles.

He was still wearing too many clothes but Qrow didn’t care; everything felt so rushed, as though it had to happen _now_. He eased Oz backward onto the desk, pushing his boxers past his knees, shoving his own pants down his hips and his shirt off his shoulders. Just as quickly his hands returned to Oz’s body, rough hands that truly valued the white smoothness of Oz’s skin, fingers traveling over his chest once – there would be time later for more appreciation – until he palmed Oz’s hip, feeling the heat from his groin.

He leaned over Oz and kissed him, rough and demanding, Oz obliging as always, parting lips to let Qrow do whatever he wanted, swallowing Oz’s whimper when Qrow ground himself against Oz, naked skin against hot, naked skin. Qrow’s hand slipped down and took both of them in his palm, flicking his wrist too quickly to watch Ozpin cant his hips in time, his breath raw.

“What you do want, Oz?” he asked, his voice raspy.

The professor’s eyes opened in surprise – Qrow tightened his grip to make his back arch again.

“Enough foreplay,” Oz murmured.

So Qrow wasn’t the only impatient one. Fine by him.

He dragged his hand down Oz’s cock once more – so slowly – and reveled in the low moan the professor tried to hold back.

“B-bloody tease - _ah - ”_

Qrow’s mouth around him cut the indignation short, Ozpin’s hands flailing against the smooth desktop for a lack of something to grip. Oz tasted nothing short of divine, salt-laced sweetness of skin.

“What was that?” Qrow asked, grinning from between Oz’s legs. 

“Don’t make me say it.”

“Say what, Oz?”

Oz’s whine now was pure embarrassment, his body giving a tiny wiggle of discomfort. 

“You just enjoy making me squirm.”

“Yes,” Qrow said. “And I can do it with or without my dick.” He rose, watching the slow spread of red on Ozpin’s face. “So, what’ll it be?”

“I – I’d like you inside of me, please,” Oz whispered.

“Was that so hard?”

“Yes,” Ozpin retorted. “Please, Qrow – “

“All right, all right.” He ran a finger along Oz’s length and the man shivered. “Shit, I left my lube in my other jacket – “

“Top desk drawer.”

Qrow shot Oz a look with raised eyebrows. Without a word, he leaned over – grinding their groins together once more – god, was it hot to watch Oz get so hot and bothered, the older man bucking against him to drag a grunt from Qrow’s lips – and found the bottle in the drawer. 

“You had this waiting?” Qrow asked, flicking the top open and squeezing some onto his fingers.

Oz’s eyes seemed locked on the movement of Qrow’s hands, his breath still ragged.

“What happened to ‘not at work?’”

“We both knew this was inevitable,” Ozpin whispered.

Qrow only grinned, running slick fingers down Oz’s cock, the man’s moan now turned desperate, his hips trying to find better contact. 

_He’s suffered enough,_ Qrow thought, and slipped a digit inside.

Another dramatic arch of Ozpin’s back, a half-strangled moan, his fingers gripping the edge of the desk. God, his reactions were intoxicating, hot muscles clenching so fucking _eagerly_ around Qrow’s finger. Another finger and a flick of his wrist and Ozpin was canting his hips in time, his moan devolving into a contented purr. The pressure in Qrow’s groin pulsed and he scissored his fingers, stretching Oz just a little more before pulling out.

Ozpin’s eyes opened again, following Qrow as he stepped forward, parting Oz’s thighs wider, slicking his cock with more lube. The older man’s breath quickened before Qrow even brushed against his entrance. Qrow could have made Oz beg a bit more, but there was no _time_ and it had to be now –

Qrow thrust into him and both men made raw noises, Ozpin nearly arching completely off the desk, Qrow catching his back with one arm and pulling him closer, Ozpin hot and wet and tight around him, muscles clasping him as though to never let him go, Oz whining quietly when his cock brushed against Qrow’s abdomen, Oz, Oz, _Oz -_

“Oz, you gotta relax,” he panted.

He heard his lover take a long breath, his arms easing up around Qrow – just a moment was all Qrow wanted; he pulled out and slammed back in –

_God he felt so fucking good -_

\- and Oz cried out too loudly, cupping a hand over his mouth, his head dropping against Qrow’s shoulder, moaning into his skin, fingers digging into his back as Qrow thrust in again and again. Qrow pushed in and paused, fully sheathed, grinding his stomach against Oz’s cock, feeling the older man swallow his groans and his limbs tremble, the first drop of sweat sliding down Qrow’s temple and onto Ozpin’s shoulder.

Qrow pulled back, his thrusts almost frantic, the pleasure building too rapidly to control, one hand dropping to wrap fingers around Oz again, pumping him as Qrow pumped his hips. Oz raised one hand to pull Qrow’s lips to his, Qrow immediately biting Oz’s lower lip to hear him cry out again, slipping his tongue inside as they moved together. Oz broke the kiss with a quiver and a whimper – he clenched so fucking tightly around Qrow – and Qrow pulled away to leverage himself, speeding up his thrusts until the desk creaked in protest, a framed photograph clapping loudly as it fell face first, his hand around Oz still pumping in time, Ozpin himself unable to do anything but writhe and moan those sweet desperate moans.

Oz’s orgasm ripped a cry from him that he cut short only with another hand over his mouth, his back contorting as he came over his stomach; Qrow groaned at the new tightness around him, his pace faltering, his hand releasing Oz’s cock to steady himself against the desk. Oz turned eyes on him – pupils blown wide – and then his hips began to move with Qrow, muscles clenching and unclenching in such delicious undulations that Qrow gasped, gritting his teeth against the pleasure that roared through him.

Ozpin hummed – the bastard was positively smug with what he was doing to Qrow now – and increased the speed of his grinding, Qrow whining through his labored breath. Everything was fire and urgency, Qrow groaning when Oz wrapped his legs around his waist and pulled him closer. Another manipulation of his hips and Qrow came suddenly, gripping Oz’s waist so tightly that he was sure to find purple marks there tomorrow, the pleasure washing over him so intensely he thought he would drown, Oz pulling him against his chest as Qrow gently convulsed inside him. 

For some time they stayed like that, Qrow’s heavy panting slowly easing, Ozpin relaxing around him. Oz pushed sweat-laced locks from Qrow’s forehead, offering a chaste kiss on his cheek. 

“I trust that satisfied your ‘kink,’” Oz said quietly, a smile in his voice.

“Holy shit,” Qrow said. “I think we broke your desk.”

Ozpin laughed, the sound reverberating against Qrow’s ear. 

Qrow straightened, carefully pulling out of Oz, his hands happy now to gently run along exposed white skin for no reason beyond affection. Oz hummed again, that little smile reappearing on his lips. 

“So,” Qrow said. “Anything else you have planned for tonight?”

“I was thinking of ordering in and testing the structural integrity of my desk at home.”

“Oh, fuck, I think I _do_ love you,” Qrow said, scooping Oz into his arms.

Ozpin laughed into the kiss.


	10. I met a stranger on a plane –  I did not know that I already knew him, knew his heart was my heart, knew his body was my body, knew his soul had already stolen mine away.

Ozpin woke to the smell of coffee and an empty bed. The scent drifted in from the kitchen, warm and enticing, as he stretched sleepy limbs within their entanglement in emerald sheets. He sat up and rolled stiff shoulders, running a hair through bed-mussed hair. From beside him, the pillow still bore Qrow’s vague outline, the smell of his shampoo. The thought of Qrow puttering around in the kitchen in that bright red robe of his was enough to make Ozpin smile. Another roll of his neck – the pop satisfying to both hear and feel – and he reached for his own bathrobe, his slippers padding softly toward the promise of caffeine.

The machine coughed its final breath before the beep indicated the brew cycle finished; from the sofa, Qrow turned amused eyes on him as Ozpin reached for a bone white mug.

“You always appear _right_ when it’s done,” he said. His hair – usually so perfectly careless – now looked like a bird’s nest. “It’s like a weird sixth sense, but with coffee.”

“I’ve drank so many cups from this machine, our souls have merged,” Ozpin said, reaching for another mug. “Coffee?”

“Splash of milk. Come on, don’t give me that look. I can’t drink it black. Heartburn.”

Ozpin gave a sigh of feigned insult, joining Qrow on the sofa with both mugs and glancing at the TV. 

“Is this…are you watching _Pride and Prejudice?”_ Ozpin said, watching the familiar faces grace the screen.

“Yeah, and what’s with your copy? Thing looks worn to hell.”

“This series is from 1995.”

“Yeah, but the DVD isn’t, which means you’ve watched this more than you’ve read the book,” Qrow said, shaking the box in Ozpin’s direction. 

“It’s a favorite,” Ozpin said, the fondness creeping into his voice. “Besides, sometimes I show it in class.”

“That’s why I’m watching it,” Qrow said. “I didn’t like Austen when I was an undergrad, but turns out I like someone who does, so. Giving it another college try.”

“That’s very sweet.”

“Yeah, well, don’t tell anyone,” Qrow said, reaching for the offered mug. “I have a bad reputation to keep up.” He took the coffee and winced.

“Are you all right?”

“Just a little pain,” Qrow said, sipping his coffee.

“Chest pain?” Ozpin asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nah, just my abs. From givin’ it to you good last night.”

The blush was immediate, Ozpin’s concern evaporating in a sudden, hot moment.

_The absolute ass -_

“Qrow – “

“Hang on, I think this bit’s important. This is when Elizabeth first meets Darcy.”

“Ah,” Ozpin said, very willing to let his attention drift to less embarrassing subjects. “Yes. He wears a lovely blue coat in this scene. Not quite as fine as the green one in the second half, but still.” 

“Damn, Oz, I’m right here. No need for the lovesick sighing.”

Ozpin rolled his eyes. “Are you actually going to watch this?”

“I’d try if you’d shut the hell up.”

“Do you always speak to your boss that way?”

Qrow looked at him, eyes glinting. “I said a hell of a lot worse last night.”

“You’re awful,” Ozpin said, but he smiled into the kiss Qrow offered, the younger man’s hand drifting gently into Ozpin’s hair. 

Qrow only gave that smug smirk he always did, his hand falling from Ozpin’s hair to his hand, Qrow’s fingers wrapping around it with a brief squeeze. Ozpin shifted on the sofa to lean against him and sip his coffee, content with the silent contact of their bodies and the polite Regency dialog from the television. For some time they remained, until Ozpin considered rising for a second cup.

Qrow called after him as Ozpin poured the coffee, the TV frozen.

“Do you ever think this is moving fast?”

Ozpin glanced up, replacing the pot on the machine. “Us, you mean?”

“Yeah. Do you ever…worry about that?”

“No,” Ozpin said.

“Really.”

“Well,” he said, settling back against Qrow and tucking his feet under him, “that is to say, I did – at first.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” Ozpin said. “By all reasonable accounts, we _are_ moving quickly. I’m simply not convinced that it’s a bad thing.”

Qrow thought about this, nodding slowly.

“Do you think it’s a bad thing?” Ozpin asked.

“Fuck no,” Qrow said. “But you’re a lot more careful than I am.”

“Qrow, I’m old enough to know that if I feel this strongly about something, I shouldn’t push it away.”

“Yeah, I guess. I just – Glynda made it sound like you never dated at all.”

“I admit I am extremely lacking in that regard,” Ozpin said, “so, yes, you’re something of an anomaly.”

Qrow made an appreciative noise. “So, you didn’t have any interest in dating before you met me?”

“I suppose that’s correct.”

And the grin returned.

“All right,” Ozpin said dryly. “Do watch your ego or else it will smother us all.”

“You love it.”

Ozpin concealed the smile in his mug. 

“At the risk of ruining your good mood,” Qrow said, fiddling with the remote, “Tai invited us to dinner tonight. Together.”

“Ah.” Ozpin fell silent. 

Dinner with Qrow’s family, the in-laws he never expected to have. It was a comforting thought, having a family again.

Comforting, and mildly terrifying.

“Are you leaving the decision to me?” he asked at last.

“I mean, yeah,” Qrow said. “It’s a big step.”

“Qrow, you told me you loved me in front of an audience yesterday.”

“Okay, well, but this isn’t anonymous. At this point, they’re so fucking curious about you I’m afraid they’re going to tape you to a lie detector when you hit the door.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“About Tai, maybe, but the girls sure as hell would if they knew where to get one.”

Ozpin chuckled, shuffling more firmly against Qrow. “I would love to come to dinner. I’ll bring a lovely wine from my reserve stash.”

“Tai thinks Fireball is top shelf; it’ll be wasted on him. Then again,” Qrow added, “if they really interrogate you, you might need it.”

 _How reassuring,_ Ozpin thought, giving Qrow a quick smile to mask the vague dread in his gut. 

Then again, he would be with Qrow. The younger man hit play on the remote and they nestled together, Ozpin cupping his mug in both hands as Qrow threw an arm around him.

In the end, nothing else really mattered.

***

“So,” Qrow said, as the two stepped out of the shower, the younger man aggressively toweling off his wild hair, “we’ll stay for dinner. Two, three hours tops. Then back home for a nightcap and a bit more of ‘Pride and Prejudice’ until Colin Firth gets you hot and bothered enough for me to take advantage.”

“You’re rather nervous about my meeting your family,” Ozpin remarked, walking into their closet to fish for clothing. “Would you say this is a business casual affair?”

“Business – what? Oz, for Christ’s sake, it’s just my family.”

“You keep saying that, but in a tone that suggests ‘it’s just the end of the world,’” Ozpin said, pulling a dark green cardigan from its hanger. “What about this with a white dress shirt?”

Qrow stopping tying the towel around his waist, staring. 

“That bad?” Ozpin asked. He hadn’t seen Qrow like this before: nervous and neurotic, radiating anxious energy.

“I’m dating Mr. Rogers,” Qrow said.

“It’s a classic look. And it’s not my usual full suit.”

Qrow sighed. “Don’t wear the sock garters. I’m begging you.”

“You told me the sock garters were sexy.”

“Maybe I have an old man fetish,” Qrow said.

“You’re severely overreacting,” Ozpin said, beginning to dress. “It’s just dinner. I’m sure your family are very lovely people.”

Qrow only groaned and sulked off to find pants.

The truth of the matter was, Ozpin mused, as they dressed and climbed into the car (a fine reserve Syrah cradled in Ozpin’s lap), Ozpin was likely more nervous than Qrow; he had never had in-laws.

He hadn’t even met a significant others’ family. None of his college relationships had been serious enough, or Ozpin hadn’t had interest enough. 

Ozpin certainly had interest enough now.

He hated social engagements with every part of him, but with his position at the university, they were frequent and inevitable. Living alone, with only a few friends he saw regularly, was reward for those draining, wasted hours. 

But now he was part of a team, and Qrow’s family was just as important to him as they were to Qrow. This was not an evening to endure; this was a group of people to embrace.

“Oz? Anyone home?”

“Hmm?” Ozpin turned his head to Qrow, who shot him concerned glances from the driver’s seat.

“Look, we can’t both be this nervous or I’ll puke.”

“I’m fine. I apologize; what were you saying?”

“Nothing important. Just can’t believe you wore the fucking cardigan.”

“I think I pull it off quite well,” Ozpin said.

Qrow fell silent for a moment. “All right, yeah, you do. Somehow.”

“I wore the sock garters as well.”

Qrow snorted, but his lips twitched. “Remind me tonight to unbuckle them with my teeth.”

_”Qrow – “_

“This is the place,” Qrow interrupted, clearly saving that particular inappropriate comment for when Ozpin couldn’t lecture him. Qrow pulled into the driveway next to a covered motorcycle. The house was charming; small, but the pale yellow paint was inviting even in the evening light, sunflowers and red gerbera daisies forming a cheerful path to the front door.

“It’s delightful,” Ozpin said. “I didn’t know your brother-in-law had a motorcycle.”

“It’s my niece’s,” Qrow said. “She’s a bit of a hothead.”

“I can’t imagine that runs in the family,” Ozpin said. He meant it to sound sarcastic but it came out too soft, his affection bleeding through. 

Qrow’s lips tugged at a smile. 

“You’ll be fine, Qrow,” Ozpin said, lifting a hand to brush along Qrow’s scruff, wishing to dismiss the younger man’s anxiety. “I can handle an awkward dinner.”

Qrow leaned over the gear stick and met him halfway for the kiss.

“Better?” Ozpin murmured.

“Better. All right, let’s get this over with,” Qrow said.

Ozpin followed him from the car and stood by his side as he rang the bell. Inside, Ozpin could hear a number of voices, the murmur of a low masculine tone, and then a girlish shriek. The door opened and Ozpin braced himself for the introductions – he realized too late that he hadn’t asked Qrow ahead of time for the girls’ names – but he didn’t have a moment to register the presence at the door before a flash of red whizzed out, all the while with a high-pitched screech.

The girl tackled Qrow so heavily that he stepped backward, Ozpin bracing his shoulders, small arms wrapping around Qrow’s waist.

“Uncle _QROW!”_ she squealed. “I’m so glad you made it!”

“Er – yeah, thanks, Rosebud. Glad I could make it too.” Qrow wriggled out of her grasp, shooting Ozpin an apologetic glance. “Oz, this is Ruby, my youngest niece. Ruby, this is Ozpin Pine. Oz. My, uh…”

“Boyfriend,” Ozpin finished, reaching to offer Ruby a hand.

“Ohhh,” the girl said. She couldn’t have been more than fifteen, wide gray eyes and dark hair, her expressions candid and transparent. She shook Ozpin’s hand with a young energy, shaking it so roughly that his glasses slipped down his nose.

“He’s really pretty, Uncle Qrow,” she said.

Ozpin blinked.

And then he blushed. 

Qrow laughed, deep and genuine. “That he is, Ruby. Wanna tell your dad we’re here?”

“On it!” She raced off in an instant.

“Kids and their honesty,” Qrow said, grinning. “You’re bright red.”

“Hush,” Ozpin murmured, following him into the house. 

The foyer was a modge-podge of books, shoes, and Jansport backpacks, tossed wherever convenient – a busy family’s room, things left where they might be found as the girls dashed off to school. Ruby was barely in high school and Ozpin presumed the elder was finishing it up; he wondered if Qrow would convince her to attend the university and take classes with her uncle.

They entered the living room to find well-worn tan sofas, once pretty decorative pillows left to the damage granted by youthful pillow fights; the TV was on with the sound low, an obnoxiously bright cartoon playing.

“Hey, Tai!” Qrow called into the adjoined kitchen. “Where’s my whiskey?”

“Don’t _yell,”_ came the voice, deep and mellow. A blond man came into view, holding a set of barbeque tongs. “I’m cooking outside. Whiskey is in the top cabinet.”

Qrow made himself at home, fishing for a glass, motioning toward Ozpin with the bottle of Jameson. “Tai, this is Ozpin. Oz, my brother-in-law, Taiyang.”

“Pleasure,” Ozpin said. He took the hand Tai seemed to offer in dazed automation, his expression frozen.

“Professor Pine,” he said.

Ozpin blinked, glancing at Qrow. “I beg your pardon. Have we met?”

“Yeah,” Taiyang said. “Uh – kind of. I…I was in your class. A long time ago.”

“Oh,” Ozpin said, his face warming.

Of all the luck - 

Maybe Qrow had been correct in his predictions; maybe tonight _would_ be the awkward dinner as promised.

“Holy shit, Tai, you were in his class?” Qrow asked, rejoining them with his whiskey. “That’s hilarious.”

“A…a few of them, actually,” Taiyang stammered.

Ozpin glanced at the stricken expression on Taiyang’s face, as though the younger man was calculating the age difference between Ozpin and Qrow.

_Oh, yes, this was going to be a mild disaster._

“Well, now that you both need a drink,” Qrow said cheerfully, “how about this expensive stuff Oz brought?”

“Please,” Ozpin said, hearing the note of desperation in his voice.

The men stood, every moment of waiting for Qrow to open the bottle a prolonged agony.

“So, Taiyang,” Ozpin said, breaking the silence – any subject was welcome in place of the sound of their combined social anxieties. “I’ve had the pleasure of meeting one of your daughters – Ruby. She’s lovely.”

“I – thank you. You know, Prof – Ozpin,” Tai corrected, looking distressed by the informality. “You know, your classes had a lot of impact on me.”

“Did they?”

“Yes. I went into teaching myself, actually. Community college near here. And I even told my daughter to t –“

“Come on, Tai,” Qrow interrupted, returning with two generously full glasses. “Oz works too much as it is. Can’t we talk about something else?”

“Oh, right, I’m sorry.”

Ozpin and Tai raised their glasses in unison, and Ozpin tried very hard to relax every strained muscle in his body.

He had been teaching for years now, and running into former students wasn’t completely uncommon, but this –

Ozpin cleared his throat. “It seems like teaching runs in the family,” he said, taking another sip of wine.

Taiyang’s face suddenly contorted.

“Qrow, isn’t he your boss?” he blurted.

And Ozpin sprayed wine onto his sleeve.

“Oh, shit,” Qrow said. He hurried back into the kitchen and returned with a dish towel, dabbing at Ozpin’s stained cardigan.

“I’m sorry!” Tai seemed to shake off the shock, dashing off. “I think I have some club soda!”

“This is going well,” Ozpin muttered to Qrow.

“Honest, this isn’t as awful as I expected,” he said, grinning. 

“How can you say that?”

“Yeah, Tai,” Qrow said, when it seemed the worst of the stain was out. “He’s my boss. It’s all very hush-hush.”

“Oh.” Tai returned with the soda, shooting them both glances. “Qrow told me you met on the plane. So…you guys started dating after the interview?”

“Yes,” Ozpin said.

“No,” Qrow said at the same time.

Ozpin sighed. 

Tai just handed the club soda to Ozpin and raised his eyebrows.

“Got it,” he said, and Ozpin was distressed that he did.

“Have some wine, Oz,” Qrow said, flashing him a lopsided smirk.

Ozpin sighed again, but he raised his glass to his lips.

The shriek behind him nearly made him drop it, Ruby rushing past Ozpin.

“Did you tell your sister dinner is ready?” Taiyang asked.

“Yep! She’s on the phone with _Blake_ so it’ll be a sec.”

Taiyang made a face like he expected the answer. “Right.”

“Blake, the not-yet girlfriend?” Qrow asked.

“She hasn’t told me yet, so I’m pretending not to know,” Tai said. “But I have a great 'I'm your father and I love you for who you are’ speech ready. Have a seat, Ozpin. I’m sure she’ll join us in a minute.”

Qrow settled in the chair next to Ozpin with a wink, his nerves evidently gone with the familiarly of his brother’s house and liquor cabinet. 

“So, Oz,” Ruby said, sitting across from the professor and putting her chin in her palm, “did you like Uncle Qrow’s poem?”

“I did,” Ozpin said, noting that the girl already fell into the nickname Qrow had given him. “I liked it very much.”

“That’s saying something,” Qrow said, pointing a fork at Ruby, “because he hasn’t read anything published past 1850 since he started teaching.”

“That – “ Ozpin broke off the objection, suddenly uncertain of whether Qrow was correct.

Qrow just chuckled. 

“I didn’t ask,” Taiyang said, placing a plate of steaks on the table, “but you’re not a vegetarian, are you?”

Ozpin opened his mouth, but Qrow interrupted.

“Nah, Oz likes meat just fine,” he said, with another obvious wink.

“Qrow!” Ozpin and Taiyang said in unison.

“I think I missed something,” Ruby said, her bright eyes shifting between the men.

“This – this is lovely,” Ozpin said, unable to hold back a glare. “Thank you, Taiyang.”

“You’re welcome. There are potatoes and a salad – oh, there’s Yang.”

Ozpin turned his head toward the living room to greet the final missing niece, meeting violet eyes and wild blonde hair.

His first thought was that she looked remarkably like Tai. 

The second was that she usually sat in the back left corner of his classroom with her quiet, dark-haired friend.

_Oh no._

Yang had stopped short in the middle of the room, cell phone in hand, eyes widening.

“Professor?” she blurted.

“Oh, shit,” Qrow said, the ice in his whiskey ringing. “I knew I meant to tell you something before we left…”

_I will kill him for this._

“…good evening, Miss Xiao Long,” Ozpin said, forcing confidence back into his voice. Surely this couldn’t be the absolute, irrevocable disaster it appeared to be. “Or should I call you Yang?”

“Is this some kind of freaky parent-teacher thing?”

“No, I – “

Qrow stood up, his chair groaning as he pushed it back. “Yang, I think you know Ozpin. Oz, my oldest niece, Yang.”

“…always a pleasure,” Ozpin said, when it appeared that Yang had no intention of responding beyond an open mouth.

“This isn’t about my grade, is it?” Yang said at last. “Because I worked my ass off for that B and I – “

“Language in front of guests, Yang,” her father warned.

“This isn’t about your grade – “

“Can _someone_ explain what’s going on?” Yang exclaimed, her voice turning desperate.

Silence fell, all three men shooting each other glances, imploring the others to answer.

Instead, Ruby chimed in.

“That’s Uncle Qrow’s boyfriend,” she said, her mouth full of mashed potatoes.

Another silence fell, this one even worse than before. Ozpin, feeling the poignant number of eyes on him, lifted his wine glass again.

“Ta-da,” Qrow said, and began to laugh.

A moment passed, and then Yang joined in, clutching her stomach.

“Are you _serious?”_ Yang said. “Is that how I got the B?”

For the second time that evening, Ozpin spit wine.

Qrow was laughing almost too hard to offer his napkin, mopping up the spray only for a moment before he collapsed on the table, his shoulders shaking with mirth. Ozpin, hot-faced, managed to face Yang again.

“It is most certainly not,” he huffed. 

“Good to know, Teach,” Yang said with a grin, joining them at the table. “Shame though. If Uncle Qrow had taken me up on my offer, I’d have given him my tip money from the café.”

Ozpin narrowed eyes at Qrow. “What offer?”

“You didn’t say there was money involved,” Qrow said. “What kind of hooker do you think I am?”

_”Qrow, language.”_

“One that’d do it for free,” Yang retorted. “And I wasn’t wrong.”

“Dare I ask what you’re talking about?” Ozpin asked.

“Yang thought you could, uh…loosen up a bit, Oz,” Qrow said, valiantly trying not to laugh. “With my help.”

A hot blush roared over Ozpin’s face. “She _what?”_

“Look, I didn’t know you were already dating,” Yang said, as though this was a reasonable point to argue. “It saved my money anyway.”

“Qrow – “

“Look, I wasn’t gonna do it!” Qrow protested under Ozpin’s glare. “I mean, I _did_ but not like, _you know_ – “

“Grades are like, finalized for good, right?” Yang broke it. “I can’t get expelled or anything for this?”

“No, Miss Xiao Long, but that isn’t the _point – “_

“Ugh, don’t use your teacher voice.”

“Qrow,” Tai broke in, the name a desperate plea.

“All right,” Qrow said, raising his voice until the others quieted. “Here’s the deal: Oz and I are a thing; I meant everything I said in the fucking poem; Yang, try to be nice to the guy; yeah, Tai, we, uh, became a thing before I was hired but that’s not _why_ I was hired; and can we all just have a real, awkward, quiet family meal now?”

Ozpin took a long breath, rubbing his eyes.

A very long, very awkward silence fell.

“Language,” Ruby said.

And Ozpin began to laugh.

Qrow shot him a look that suggested the professor had gone mad, but Ozpin could not hold back his mirth, the series of completely nonsensical events that led to the most atrocious dinner he had ever attended.

“Qrow warned me this would go badly,” Ozpin said, wiping his eyes at length, “but I was not prepared.”

“Wow,” Yang said. “I’ve never seen you laugh before.”

“I find myself laughing quite a lot these days,” Ozpin said, placing a hand on Qrow’s.

“That’s kinda cute. And a little gross.” Yang shrugged. “Welcome to the family, Teach. I guess you don’t suck as much as I thought.”

“Actually – “

_”QROW.”_

“Thank you, Yang,” Ozpin said, ignoring the death glare Tai offered Qrow. “And I forgive you for writing an entire essay on Evelyn Waugh under the presumption he was a woman.”

Now Qrow began to laugh.

“Look,” Yang said, pointing a spoon at Ozpin, “his name was _Evenlyn – “_

“Don’t read _Gone with the Wind_ then,” Qrow said, snickering.

“As if I would. That book is enormous and the movie was so boring – “

Qrow’s laugh cut off, his face looking stricken. 

“That book is a fucking American _classic – “_

“QROW. LANGUAGE.”

Ozpin sipped his wine, watching the family argue over themselves, their voices too intermingled to make out their words, acknowledging that, somehow, he had found himself part of…

Whatever this was.

“Are they always like this?” he asked Ruby, who sat happily eating dinner as though oblivious to the clamor. 

“Yeah,” she said, “but you get used to it. It doesn’t mean anything, you know. We love each other a lot. Sometimes it’s just too much.”

“I think I see,” Ozpin said.

“Potatoes?”

He glanced back at Ruby, holding the bowl of mashed potatoes toward him.

“Thank you,” he said.

“You’re welcome, Uncle Oz,” she said.

She didn’t notice the expression that flickered over Ozpin’s face, or the quiet blush that followed. 

_Family._

It had been a very long time since Ozpin had one, but Ruby was right. It was easy to see how much they loved one another, in the way that Qrow ruffled Yang’s hair, in how Yang protested despite her grins, in Taiyang’s fond and exasperated head shaking. Qrow caught Ozpin’s eye and winked; Ozpin offered a content smile in return.

Yes, it was very easy to find the love, if one knew where to look.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! This story has been a personal labor of love, a revisit of my dusty poetry skills, and a happy ending for the sake of happy endings. 
> 
> We're at work on our central work, "The Shining Beacon" and have some new AUs to start soon as well. 
> 
> Thank you again for your support! <3
> 
> -Clocks


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